


Contributions

by ForFutureReference



Series: Reconstruction [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, District 12, F/M, Post-Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForFutureReference/pseuds/ForFutureReference
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Katniss and Peeta healed, so did District Twelve. However, it wasn't something that happened on its own. This is a story of a district that would rebuild with help from an unexpected source, and a couple that would end up growing together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Mellark, are you alright?"

While I'm already beginning to recover from my little episode, the voice helps pull me back into reality, and as my vision clears, a pair of boots materialize into view. I look up to see a vaguely familiar face of a miner staring at me with an expression of concern and trepidation.

I still need to take a few steadying breaths before responding in what I think is a laid-back tone: "Yeah… I just… I just needed to catch my breath. It's just… it's a lot to take in."

Understatement of the week. Unlike others who have used this place as a relay point on the way to the Capitol, I never came here but was sent straight to the city; probably so that I could maintain the facade of sanity when transferred to Katniss' squad. So prior to my arrival, I poured over footage and photographs of the bombing's aftermath — namely the ones just a week or so after it actually happened, and when the bodies were just starting to decay — to steel myself ahead of time. Still, all this preparation didn't prepare me for the real thing as I surveyed the dawn-lit scenery: the charred and husk-like remains of what used to be buildings, the thick layer of ash caking the ground and crumbling beneath my fingers, or the mixture of carbonized and dried-out corpses. And for a moment, I flashed back to the land of the hijacked to be bombarded with both real and shiny memories.

On the upside, I guess my response is a sign that progress with Dr. Aurelius has paid off… somewhat. I mean I've gotten better at separating real from shiny, and I no longer react violently to every possible trigger. Instead, I merely seize up on myself, become about as useful as a fractured rock as I wait, and feel utterly drained of energy after the storm passes. Sometimes it last a couple seconds, and sometimes it can last for almost half an hour; what I just had was probably a longer one. Still, it would be smart to have some contingency in place once I get settled in to be on the safe side. Also, the sight of me curled up on the ground likely doesn't exactly give a good impression about my mental state to anyone.

In any case, a look of sympathy crossed the former miner's features before he offers a hand to me, which I accept with a grunt of gratitude. "Thanks…"—  _What's his name again? Thorn? Tom? Thom? Thom! Yeah, that's it._ —"Thom."

If Thom notices my hesitation at recalling him, he doesn't say anything but rather just pats me on the shoulder and grabs my bags before I can say anything. "Well it's good to see you back, Mellark," he notes as we begin walking up to the Victors' Village.

"How are things here?" I ask while gesturing vaguely at my surroundings.

"Honestly?" A puff of air is released as he runs his hand through his hair. "Could be better. Not many folks keen on returning; too many memories. Because of that, clean-up has been progressing much slower than any of us here would like, and we can't rebuild without finishing that part first."

"Oh…" This is worse than I thought.

"On the upshot, when the mine collapsed a while after the bombing, said collapse ended up snuffing out the fire burning in there. So at least this place hasn't become  _completely_  uninhabitable. Also, no more coal dust occupying every nook, surface, and ass-crack."

"Not sure if all this ash is much better. And what will you do for work?"

Thom's mouth goes into a thin line at my query. "Yeah… I know. Coal mining wasn't the most pleasant or healthy of jobs — not to mention how damning it was to find out just how much the Capitol really needed coal — but it was still a job, and I bet that the lack of said job availability is another reason people aren't eagerly flocking back." Another puff is released as he mutters, "We'll figure something out."

I ignore the trace of doubt and hesitation in his voice as we walk the rest of the way in silence.

Even though I already know that it was spared, it's still damning to see the Victors' Village intact after all the devastation that occurred. Though if there's one good thing about them remaining, it's that they are currently used to house those who did return; just as well considering how just one of those mansions can easily hold  _at least_  five extended families comfortably. For some reason however, while I understand why no one else has occupied Haymitch's — like anybody would share a space with him — and Katniss' houses, my house has remained empty as well.

When I ask Thom about that fact as we set my stuff down on the main foyer, he just shrugs. "We suspected as much that you'd return,"— For some reason, I detect some hidden message behind that, but he doesn't elaborate upon that. —"so we thought it fair that we leave the spot open."

"Thanks, though you didn't have to do it. Especially if—"

"We didn't have to do it, Mellark… We  _wanted_  to do it. It's as much as we could offer."

I… really don't know what to say to that. So instead I just gulp and, rather lamely, repeat, "Thanks." That's when the subject of importance comes up. "By the way, do you know how Katniss is?" The fact that she hasn't called Dr. Aurelius hasn't exactly been a good sign, and while Haymitch has promised to look after her during my stay in the Capitol, he hasn't exactly been the type to update me on things.

For a brief second, a grimace crosses Thom's face — also not exactly a good sign — before he smooths it out into impassivity. "Honestly don't know. You should ask Greasy Sae; she and her granddaughter have been the caretakers."

"I… see…"

"Sorry I can't be of more help. But let me know if you need anything else." With that, and after we shake hands, he heads out to start the day's work.

And thus, I'm left in this empty house with my own thoughts.

So instead of getting unpacked and settled in, I decide to go outside. I should check up on Katniss… but maybe she needs her distance right now, and I have no idea of how to help her. I could confront Haymitch about that… but right now is way too early. So what actually ends up happening is that I find myself walking back into the rest of the district to survey the devastation in detail; I don't even direct myself but instead let my feet do the directing for me.

I walk through the ruined square — once the bakery becomes close, I stare at the ground and pick up my pace; I'll have to face it someday, but it's not now — and Justice Building. I walk through the leveled surface of what used to be the Seam. I walk past the caved-in mine and the meadow that's now being used as a mass grave. All the while I take in everything. I'm honestly surprised I haven't lost it just yet; granted, I can feel beads of perspiration on my forehead that have nothing to do with temperature, and a constant constriction on my chest that signifies how close I am to having another episode.

It may be silly, but as I survey the destruction and death around me — not to mention being careful to step around the human remains — the one thing that registers is just how dreary everything is. I mean, our district was never the most cheerful, but there's just something about the constant gray, occasionally interrupted with char black, that adds a whole other level of unpleasantness on top.

Though as I get close to the fence boundary, I see something that sticks out amongst the gray, as if in defiance of the devastation. And just right there, I know exactly what I can give back to Katniss. And hopefully… just hopefully… I may able to contribute something that would give Twelve just the spark it needs to finally start growing.

So once a wheelbarrow and shovel's obtained, I begin digging.

It's not much, but it's the best I can do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have read my other stuff, this is probably a slight change in pace. Though while the progression of Everlark is a major element, the focus is on the rebuilding of District Twelve.


	2. Bombshell

_SLAM_

Well, as far as reunions go, that could have gone… better. Then again, considering what happened the last time we had a reunion, they also could have gone worse.

Besides the sound of the lock sliding and clicking into place, I can hear the muffled yet unmistakable thumps of footfalls running up the stairs. The following just-as-muffled crash to the floor sends a bout of worry through me, but Katniss clearly gets back up and continues on her not-so-merry way. Also the whole locking-the-door-behind-her part makes me suspect that approaching her would be a very…  _very_  bad idea.

So the only thing I can do is sigh and proceed to plant these primroses while trying not to think about how ragged Katniss looked; be it the matted nature of her hair, uneven manner that her grafts are healing, her grown-out nails beginning to curve and twist, or the disturbing level of thinness in her physique. I think my horror at her expression showed on my face because she looked ready to tear me a new one before deciding upon her retreat. An irrational urge to go up there to embrace and reassure her threatens to overtake me, but I manage to put it down because, again, it'd be a very poor idea.

"This is the first time she got up and moved around."

I'll admit that Greasy Sae's voice makes me start a bit, but I manage to compose myself as I focus on making sure the roots of the plant I'm working on are sufficiently covered. "She's not exactly happy to see me."

"She ain't exactly happy to see anyone, boy. But that you got her to step outside, if only for a couple seconds, is impressive."

"Even if it made her lock the door?"

"Lock the…?" Sure enough, when she goes to test the door, Sae's expression of puzzlement changes to that of exasperation. "That girl…"

"Like I said: she's not exactly happy to see me." I pause in grabbing for the next plant to run my hand through my hair. "I just… I just wish I knew what to do. I know that the safe route would be to give Katniss time…"

"At this point, she doesn't have that long, boy," Sae notes with a grim air.

"Exactly. Just in those few seconds — not to mention her entire captivity — I can tell that she's wasting away, and I'd do anything to stop that…"

"But you don't want to push her away." I can only nod, and the old lady looks at me for what feels like an eternity before she heaves a sigh of her own and walks forward to brush my hair back. "Peeta, all I can say is that, once the opportunity presents itself, you'll know what to do. You already did the right thing in getting these flowers; Prim would be proud."

I… I know this why I chose to collect the primroses — to honor Prim — but to have someone else make note of that makes my throat stick. So I settle for another nod in response.

Sae seems to understand and kisses my forehead with a smile before tottering back to wherever she's staying. "She'll come around. But now if you'll excuse me, there's a door I need to unlock."

It doesn't take me long to plant all the flowers and water them, and once I finish with that, I roll the supplies back to Thom as he manages the grisly task of recovering bodies and burying them. It's no small task considering that, despite the supplies they have to facilitate the labor — a trivial part of me wonders where the horses came from — the number of workers could easily be counted within a few seconds. Despite knowing how I'd likely react to handling the remains, I feel obligated to help. However, before I can do that, something interrupts my train of thought:

_CLANK_

"You hear that?"

Behind his respiratory mask, Thom's face scrunches a bit in a small frown. "Hear what?"

_CLANK_

"That! That metal noise." It's faint, but still sounds like someone hammering on sheet metal.

"Oh that… Probably our visitor."

"Visitor?"

"Arrived on the same supply train that brought you here; probably didn't notice him because you were busy… yeah. Anyways, moment he disembarked, the guy just wandered off aimlessly." A shrug accompanies Thom's statement as he scratches the back of his head. "Poor fellow seemed to be lost, but he shrugged off any help. And by the time you came to, he disappeared."

"Well, apparently he's reappeared," I mutter as I follow the rhythmic clanging to its source.

The sound leads me back towards the train station, though I take a slight right up a wide path. As I stand before the long yet low-level building with large adjacent depots and landing pads, it vaguely occurs to me that I'm in the old Peacekeeper garrison. However, the status and purpose of this complex didn't save it from being bombed any more than the Justice Building or Seam. What used to be a massive sturdy structure of yellow brick to hold a large unit of Peacekeepers is now caved in and blackened from the inferno, while the depots are just leveled footprints with hunks of twisted metal of what used to be utility vehicles and weapons. And I don't miss the fact that many of the human remains around here have what looks to be armor still attached. Though considering the devastation, there's a conspicuous lack of hovercraft wreckage.

_CLANK_

That sound, ever closer, prompts me to walk into the larger and now-roofless building, despite anxiety of a wall potentially collapsing atop me… which, all things considered, would probably be a fairly anti-climactic way to die.

Anyways, the interior maze of distorted metal frames — I try not to notice the bodies that have fused within them — that I must navigate seems to signify that this used to be the barracks. And upon that realization, and as I slow my pace to conceal myself, I find the source.

Because sitting in the middle of the collapsed structure is a slightly-built young man hammering on a piece of metal with what looks like an ornate cane. Honestly, he looks like he could originate from the Seam, but there's something about the way he's dressed that hint that's not the case; though I can't quite put my figure on where he's really from. In any case, possible origins and even the ragged scar that mars his cheek take a secondary precedence to the expression on his face. The sort of vacancy and focused expression of someone who has seen too much, especially at a young age, yet somehow has come across something that still manages to surprise him… and not in a good way.

It's probably best to hang back and leave this guy to… whatever he—

"I know you're there, Mellark."

Or I could just reveal myself. I'm about to ask him how he knows who I am but then realize how dumb that would be. "You can approach if you want. It's not like it's my place to tell what you can't do in your own district." Besides the last part of the youth's muttered statement, that little accent I can pick up behind the gravelly yet dull quality of his voice confirms that he's definitely not from around here; though I still can't pinpoint where it's from.

In any case, I decided to take him up on his offer and approach carefully. At this point, he's stopped banging that cane against that indiscernible chunk of metal and is merely using the former to prod the latter. When I'm practically on top of the guy, I'm finally able to get a better look at the cane: the majority of it is a beautifully carved light wood, with a spiral of intricate designs the whole way through, except for the handle which looks like it's made of an antler and has just one small little decal on it; a moment passes before I figure out what that decal is, and when I do, I can't help but raise my eyebrows a bit.

It's a Peacekeeper sigil.

Honestly, at this point, all I'm thinking is how gusty this guy must be to still adhere to that symbol and walk into this district with it. On the upside, I think I finally figured out where he's from; though that now I think about it, there's also something a bit familiar about this Peacekeeper.

As if he's able to read my mind, the youth mutters, "Yes, I was a Peacekeeper. Is that going to be a problem?" There's actually no challenging tone in that; it's as if he sincerely wants to know if his presence is going to cause any issue.

So I decide to humor him: "As long as you don't cause any." In the meantime, I take a seat on a piece of rubble before noting, "You were causing a slight ruckus earlier, though. Are you alright?"

A snort is emanated from the Peacekeeper, yet he refrains from looking me in the eye. "I… I just needed to see things for myself…" I'm about to ask what he means by that before he states, "After the end of the Quarter Quell, Head Peacekeeper Thread came back with his unit and told us that, in the process of defying the Capitol, District Twelve managed to destroy itself in the chaos that followed Katniss Everdeen's stunt. The Capitol broadcast told the same story."

"What." I'm barely able to hold down the surge of anger that accompanies my baffled statement. District Twelve got bombed to oblivion, and yet they had the gall to tell the rest of the nation that it was  _our_  fault?

If I'm showing any sign of the anger that I feel, the Peacekeeper makes no note of it, but merely continues: "Well as the war progressed, the message was changed to be that Thirteen disguised its hoverplanes as Peacekeeper bombers to rally the districts. And considering the death and destruction that oh-so-glorious Rebellion visited upon anybody who did not fall in line with them, how could any loyalist not see the logic in that?" Okay, now that one I don't have an answer for; it's not like Thirteen was a paragon of virtue, and I've seen enough in the Capitol to know that the rebels weren't exactly clean in what they did either. "But even after it became clear ever to us just how much heinous shit the Capitol was responsible for… Even when I came here to get an inkling of the loss you suffered… a small part of I had hoped that maybe…  _just maybe_  this was merely a false flag operation like in the Capitol. That our own Soldiers in White weren't responsible for sacrificing thousands of innocents and their  _own comrades_  just to prove some political point…

"That is… until I came across this:" As he taps that cane again, I realize what that piece of metal belongs to:

A bomb.

Suddenly I can feel myself pucker up a bit at the sight, and I don't know whether to run away screaming or simply punch this guy for being a moron. However, the Peacekeeper intercepts my thoughts: "It's inert; I already checked."

"Still…" Okay, and maybe my voice is coming out a bit higher than expected.

"The point I'm making is that this incendiary is of a new and specialized model developed within the last couple years. There's no way at all the rebels would have been able to steal it to do a false-flag operation. And I've come across enough intact and fragmented examples that still have the serial codes and will likely prove that these aren't copies either." It's then that he actually looks up at me, and past that vacant stare I can finally see the guilt and torment that is corroding him. "It means that we were responsible. For all our talk about courage and honor and upholding order, we were responsible for this… for this… this…"

Instead of being completed, the sentence comes out strangled and finally devolves into an inarticulate scream, and the Peacekeeper kicks at the inert hunk of metal before letting his cane clatter to the ground as he clutches at his hair and rocks back and forth.

I'll admit, due to the denial that this guy admitted to, a small part of me feels cold satisfaction at seeing this realization tear into him like a serrated knife, and another part is already thinking of the right things to say that will twist that knife further. But… even without knowing that this guy was willing come here to do some fact-checking… even without knowing that completely decent individuals came from that district and even served as Peacekeepers… even without knowing how District Two suffered as well during the war… the piteous sight before me enough to wash away that temptation to do something really dickish.

So despite my previous anger, I sidle up next to him to rest an arm across his shoulders. As he trembles with broken sobs, the guy releases a just-as-broken and  _extremely_  profane string of damnations towards Thread, Snow, the Capitol, and his own district's willful blindness and complicity; for all their martial rigidity, folks from Two have a capacity to be quite… creative and colorful in their speech patterns, especially when they're pissed off

After a few minutes, the profanities fade away as the Peacekeeper runs out of steam. "I now see what put that seed of destruction in Gale's heart," he mutters. "It in no way excuses his rhetoric, but I can see how this… this  _atrocity_  turned him into that butcher."

The mention of Gale's name finally jogs in my mind as to what's so familiar about this Peacekeeper. "You must be Marcus Wilson," I state, causing him to show surprise. "Gale talked about you a couple times when he had to stay in the Capitol."

Wilson's surprise doesn't appear to abate any, but he responds, "You can just call me Marcus."

"Only if you call me Peeta," I counter in good cheer… in relation to the circumstances; I may just be imagining things, but I swear that the corner of Marcus' mouth twitches in response. "In any case, I've been told that you're a good person… if apparently a bit humorless."

"Like Gale should talk…"

Now that gives me a good chuckle before I sober up to add, "More importantly, I've been told you did your best to protect Katniss, which always makes you good in my book."

If Marcus was surprised before, he's utterly incredulous now. "After I originally wanted to kill her! I held a gun to her face! What's good about that?"

For some reason, as irrational as it may be, his counter gives me a fit of giggles, and before long I'm in full hysterics. As my vision clears, I can see that Marcus doesn't share my amusement, especially when he asks, "Uh… what's so funny?"

I don't even allow my chortles to abate when I respond: "Have you seen our first Games?"

"Yeah… your point?"

"My point is that Katniss dropped a fucking tracker jacker nest on me. Not to mention that for a split second, she was willing to send an arrow into my heart. Not exactly 'Star-crossed Lovers' material there," I note with a chuckle. I don't mention the instances where I tried to kill  _her_ , which are far less funny.

"Oh…"

"Yeah… 'oh' is about right. But you know what? In the end, she saved my life a couple times."  _I hope I saved hers…_  "Honestly, I can't blame you for being more than a bit pissed off in that situation, and in the end it doesn't matter; what matters is that not only you weren't the one to actually shoot her, but decided to act as a shield when things got nasty. So I'm not going to judge you on what  _might_  have happened but rather what the end result was." 

_Because I damn myself enough as it is._

"Oh… uh… thanks?"  _Real confident right there…_  "How is she?"

"She could… be better." That's all I'll say to the situation, and Marcus offeres me a small sympathetic grimace. Wanting to change the subject before I can dwell upon it, I ask, "What does Gale think about you being here?"

"He doesn't know."  _Huh._  "Like I said, I needed to see this for myself, under my own initiative."

That actually makes sense and increases my estimation of his decency.

"Peeta…" Now though, all I notice is the former Peacekeeper looking at me with an expression of someone who's about to try to tactfully mention the unmentionable. And before I can head him off, he states, "Gale told me what happened… what happened to Darius."

 _Oh no…_  Definitely not liking where this is going, and I'm trying desperately not remember…  _No, just don't think about it!_  "I…"

"But Gale didn't see it directly… He was reliant on second-hand info… Though…"  _Don't say it… Please don't say it…_ "he told me you were the last one to see my brother."

I've already been informed that, while Marcus and Darius weren't brothers by birth, they might as well been considering how they grew up together. And now I can't miss the interplay of hope, denial, and dread on the former Peacekeeper's face.  "Marcus…"

Even as I whisper that, I know there's no dissuading him. So I begin steeling myself for the coming blow.

"Please… just tell me… did he suffer?"

Did he suffer? Darius… who was beaten and had questions screamed at him even though he couldn't respond. Whose garbled cries were responded to by the guards mocking his prior service. Does that count as suffering? Is it suffering when fingers are cut off… then toes… then… other parts…

_Stop! STOP IT! I'm begging you! Stop hurting him! I'll do what you want! I'll say what you want! I'LL DO ANYTHING! JUST PLEASE STOP!_

Wait… no… too late… he's dead already. Yeah that's right… took him days to finally expire. Yep… there he is… or what's left of him… those remains hanging outside my cell… replacing Lavinia's… just hanging there… hanging there for days… Huh… oh so that's how Boggs was able to confirm my question.

_NO WAIT BOGGS DON'T—_

Explosions… the commander lying there… no legs… blood pooling between cobblestones… blood painting the walls… so much blood… Now that mutt swooping—wait… no… that's not right… she's not a mutt. I'm the mutt… I'm the—

_MITCHELL GET AWAY FROM ME!_

More blood… a rain of blood… a rain of black… chaos… screaming…

_Look what you did you worthless creature!_

_But I didn't mean to…_

_Doesn't matter. It's still your fault. If you were stronger, none of this would have happened._

_No…_

_You know it's true._

_Please…_

_Instead you were weak…_

_Stop…_

_Worthless…_

_STOP!_

_Little shit…_

_I… it's _… I _ _…__  I'm sorry _ _…___  
_

_Ah_ _… you see clearly, don't you._

__…_  Yes._

_So who's fault is this?_

_Mine._

_What's that again?_

_This is all my fault._

_All of this is because of you._

_My fault… My fault… My fault…_


	3. Watching Over

"Welcome back to the land of the living… or what passes as such."

The familiar slurred voice enters my mind at the same time that a just-as-familiar scruff-laden face materializes. "Haymitch?"

Sure enough, my mentor is sitting on a chair next to me as I'm sprawled on what's probably his coach.

"Ever observant, boy," he states with a raise of a bottle.

"So I've been told," I mutter. "So why I am in your house?"

"Thank Limpy here for that." It's then that I see Marcus slouched in another chair and holding a mixture of sheepishness and nausea on his face; considering the state of the room, I don't exactly blame him for said nausea. I also don't miss how his expression morphs into a scowl — it reaches Seam-levels of displeasure — at Haymitch's nickname; he'll probably have to get used to it.

"You began shaking and seizing up on yourself," the former Peacekeeper mumbles while clearly refraining from making eye contact with me. "I… I didn't know what to do, so I ran to get the same guy who greeted me earlier today, and he carried you in his cart on the way back."

I'll have to thank Thom for that later. "I didn't lash out or was being difficult in the process?" I inquire. It's actually always a bit surreal when someone else describes how I am whenever I'm having an episode.

Marcus shakes his head. "If anything, you just balled up tighter at the presence of our touch, which made it easy to transport you." A huff of air is let off. "Anyways, we didn't know who could take care of you, so Mr. Abernathy was the most reasonable choice."

"Limpy actually had the bright idea of shaking me awake." At my mentor's words, I don't miss that Marcus' cane has what looks to be large jagged slash marks… or that one sleeve is torn and stained dark.  _Dammit Haymitch…_

Before I can express my anger at what had happened, the former Peacekeeper shakes his head. "Should've been more aware."  _Are you kidding me?_

"Damn straight. I expect more from someone who's grown up in Two Victors' Village." Marcus' jaw practically drops at that statement, but Haymitch just responds to it with a sneer. "I may be a useless drunk, but I still got a bit of edge left. I know you're Olympia's kid, and don't think I don't recognize you from the square." Almost forgot about that; Gale told me that he had the families of two victors living under his roof now, and while in the Capitol, he had worked to bring to justice the prick who was responsible for said victors' deaths.

In response, Marcus just murmurs something barely audible, though I think it's, "I'm sorry I tried to kill your Mockingjay, sir."

My mentor hears it clearly and guffaws, "Well, you should've seen all the times these lovebirds have tried to do the same to each other. So I'm not going to judge you on that; only what you did afterwards." I almost let of a laugh of my own at that near-mirroring of my earlier conversation. Haymitch then adds, "Anyways, I'll say this: you got some damn good reflexes."

"Thank you, sir," Marcus acknowledges before looking down at his cane. "Though, respectfully, you're not exactly the hardest person to parry and disarm. Also, I'm not sure if Rory's going to be amazed or pissed off at the addition you made to his handiwork."

And at that, all three of us erupt into laughter. Not something that's born out of sarcasm or unease, but genuine laughter out of good humor. It's probably a strange subject to find funny — actually, it's downright stupid — but then again I've long since dissociated myself from any sense of normalcy. All things considered, there aren't really enough reasons to laugh these days, and so we'll get whatever chance we can.

Of course, after we allow the chuckles to subside — I think it's been almost five minutes — I have to be the one to put a damper on the situation. "So… how long was I out?"

Yep, judging by the uneasy glances Haymitch and Marcus are sending each other, I'm definitely serving my purpose as a wet blanket, and the former Peacekeeper decides to be the one to reply, "It's been a couple hours since we first talked to now."

Damn, so this has been one of the worst ones so far. "Well… at least we know that I'm not going to go all mutt on everybody." And it seems like I've been better at predicting the onset of my episodes and holding them off for a few critical seconds to give me and others time to prepare. Still, it would probably be good to have a bit more solid contingency plan for whenever I feel something particularly bad coming up.

Despite my reassuring words and light tone, Marcus looks even more sheepish and shamefaced than before. "I… I've heard that you had… things done to you but…" An expression of disgust creeps in as he shakes his head. "I can't believe I supported those monsters. I put my trust in them, even after Mother warned me not to. My entire district put their trust in the Capitol…"

For some reason, as he's saying that, a sort of realization seems to begin to dawn on the former Peacekeeper's face, and he quickly gets up and moves — okay, I can see why Haymitch calls him "Limpy" — for the door.

The suddenness of the action takes me back a bit, and I ask, "Leaving already?"

"The train heads back west in a few hours; that only gives me a short amount of time to take care of something important." There's no futher elaboration as he reaches the door. "By the way, it was good meeting you, Peeta."

"Likewise; though I hope we'll see each other again under better circumstances."

Marcus gives a small nod at that. "Get better; both of you." A moment's pause passes before, with a pointed look to Haymitch, he adds, "Just to be clear, I'm not talking about you, sir." And after a dodging a thrown paperweight, he's out.

"Passive-aggressive punk…" Haymitch mutters with a shake of his head followed by him giving a glance towards me. "So you're finally back."

"Dr. Aurelius gave me the all-clear," I remark. "So… I hear that you've been staying in here the whole time."  _While Katniss has suffered._  My attempt at keeping my tone conversational is a bit undermined by the slight traces of anger that creeps into my voice.

"Not wasting any time getting to the point, are you, boy."

Okay, nevermind; I'm downright furious. "You… you and I made a promise to keep Katniss safe. I wanted to help but was held back in the Capitol to make sure I would not constitute a threat. You on the other hand… you're supposed to be her legal guardian. What excuse do you have to not fulfill that simple… fucking… job?" No answer greets me, and my vision begins to blur as I rise up off the sofa to stand over my mentor. "What, no smartass retort? Have you crawled so far into that bottle to be incapable of speech? This is a simple question; why haven't you done anything? Why? WHY? ANSWER ME DAMMIT!"

Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, the bottle closest to me goes from sitting on the table to being hurled across the room; glass shards go everywhere, and the contents run down the wall. It doesn't satisfy me however, and as the table crashes onto its side, I send other things flying; all the while I yell every hateful thing I can think of at this drunken oath-breaking piece of shit. After a while though, my anger ebbs away along with my waning energy, until all I can do is pant while surveying the damage I've just wreaked.

I didn't even know that it was possible for this place be trashed more than it already was, but I guess that I've just achieved the impossible. Yet Haymitch doesn't look the least bit upset at my little rampage; rather he has an uncharacteristic expression of patience on his face.

"Feel better?"

Normally, you'd expect that kind of question to be laden with a sardonic tone jabbing at my infantile outburst. However, there's not even the slightest trace of sarcasm to be had in there; in fact, it sounds completely sincere as if he's genuinely asking if I'm feeling better.

"I… I don't know." And just like that, the only emotion I feel is that of weariness as I sink back down into the sofa and rest my head in my hands. "Please… just tell me why you haven't done anything to help Katniss. I know it's not because you don't care, no matter what you say."

"If you know us so well," he retorts quietly, "then you'd know how stubborn she is when she puts her mind to something. The few times I've been there, all she's done is just sit in that chair and sleep, and it's hard enough for Sae to get her to eat food. Even if I could offer some sort of help, it's not like she's going to accept it."

"That's still no excuse," I growl. "Even if you feel you have nothing to contribute, you could have just stayed with her, even if it's to be drunk there."

"I'm not the one she wants."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seriously, what's that supposed to be mean?

For whatever reason, Haymitch just stares at me for an indeterminate amount of time before shaking his head. "If I have to explain it, then I'm going to be wasting both our times."

If there's one thing I recognize, it's a dismissal. I still offer to help clean up, but my efforts are waved off.

"Seriously though, Haymitch," I state on my way out, "I'm sorry how I acted earlier, but I really hope you'll shape up sometime. Find a hobby or something. And please don't shut us out."

"I can't make any promises," he mutters. As I leave, I swear that I hear, "I've broken enough of them as it is."

I offer no rebuke to that as I trudge… I really don't know where. Maybe I can just make a hobby of wandering aimlessly around the Victors' Village.

That's when, as I pass by Katniss' house, I hear the sounds floating out the open window; a haunting cross between a sob and song.

I'm at war with myself upon hearing that. I mean, I want to help; I really do. I want to gather her into my arms to tell her that everything will be alright. However, the incident from this morning showed me how much she wanted my help, and I don't want to impose on her.

Once that keening reaches a new level of heartrending intensity though, I throw all caution to the wind and rush inside. By the time I reach Katniss, I see that she's already worn herself out and is losing consciousness while curling into a ball.

_Oh Katniss…_

To my surprise, that cat's still around — more than a bit worse for wear but still around — and actually seeming to pace around her as if on guard; it's a bit funny as I think the two hated each other. Still, when I approach, he looks up, flattens his ears, and hisses as me.

"Yeah," I mutter, "you don't like me. Well get in line."

Despite the hisses, he makes no move to stop me as I gather Katniss into my arms — she's so light; too light — and pick her up. It's probably just reflexes on her part, but it feels like she curls into me as I go up the stairs. She also clings to my arm as I lay her out on the already-made bed.

Something like a jolt of electricity flies ip and down my arm at her touch, but I put the feeling down. Still as I take in Katniss' features — despite how thin she is, she actually looks so peaceful right now — I feel myself leaning forward. Catching myself with just a couple inches between us, I simply brush her hair back Before making my exit; the last thing I need to is make things worse with my presence. She doesn't need me looming over her.

"I trust you to look after her. Can you do that?" I ask the cat. As if in direct response to me, he hops right on the window sill as if to keep sentinel. "Good boy."

As I reach the doorway, something prompts me to look back and murmur, "Just know that if ever you need me for anything, I'll always be here for you."

_Always…_

 


	4. A Helping Hand

When the next morning rolls around, and Sae and I arrive with a fresh loaf of bread I just baked, we find Katniss already up and about. Well… about as active as she can be in her current state. She simultaneously looks well-rested yet completely drained, if that's even possible. At the same time, there seems to be this positive air about her as if she had just gotten something off her chest; still, I don't press her about it

Actually we eat breakfast in relative silence even though I do inquire Sae about the status of Twelve as of this moment, as well as the delicious hash and stew she cooked up; it actually uses real beef. While I'd like to speak with Katniss, and occasionally do send her an encouraging glance, I think that it'd be the most fair if she's the one to instigate things on her own terms. I do get a kick out of the fact that she's feeding the cat all her bacon, considering their enmity; well, I guess former enmity now.

Lunch goes the same way. In this case, we set up a picnic blanket in the middle of the houses, and invite the rest of the current inhabitants to take a break to join us. I even convince Haymitch to participate; okay, it may have taken a bucket of ice water and a threat to cut off alcohol shipments, but what matters is that he's here, relatively sober, and not being that much of a jackass at the moment. Katniss still doesn't say much, but the large-ish group of people isn't instigating her flight instinct, and it may be minor but I swear I can see some life creeping back into her cheeks as she allows Sae's granddaughter to braid her hair.

I also finally do take the time to visit the bakery and things… didn't go as badly as I thought they would, and Thom thankfully has everyone give me space both during the episode and when I start speaking to my family members; when I finally walk away from that melted lump of an oven, I feel utterly drained — even more than usual — yet it almost feels as if something is no longer exerting a painful amount of pressure on my insides and skull.

In the meantime, while it's clear that I'm no use directly assisting in the cleanup process — I tried, and all that I managed to accomplish was to distract everyone from their initial job in helping me deal with my episode — I manage help in another way by baking various treats for all the workers each morning; it's actually the first time some of them ever had pastries.

It goes like this for the next couple days: get up out of bed, bake before sunrise, have breakfast in Katniss' house with her and Sae, bring treats to the workers and chat with them, host the picnic lunch, paint or draw a bit, have dinner by myself, go to bed, and have my nightmare-laden slumber interrupted at intermittent periods during the night with me waking up in sheer terror. All in all, it's a nice consistent routine.

However, almost a week after I had arrived, and as I'm handing some cookies to the workers near the train station, something comes around which pretty much demolishes said routine.

"The hell…"

Thom's comment makes me look up to see that a train's rolling into the station. However, it's not one of the daily freighters, which had already arrived; no, this thing is way more massive, with each car large enough to contain several vehicles on both decks. After a few moments, I finally realize what this is: a troop transport. From what I've learned, these trains were used by the Capitol to carry its Peacekeepers — each train is capable of transporting a brigade's worth of soldiers,  _plus_  supplies and vehicles — from district to district, and during the war, many were captured to be repurposed for the Rebellion.

Though why is there one here?

I'm not the only person internally asking that question considering the looks of confusion and concern on everybody else's face, or how some are holding a tighter grip on their tools. Especially since this is not repainted in the standard issue of rebel vehicles; rather, the scuffed-up Capitol emblem shining in the morning light looks as if someone made a haphazard attempt at scrubbing it away but called it quits within a short period of time.

Finally the train slows to the stop and the doors slide open to reveal a crowd of people inside. Most are able-bodied adults who are probably in their twenties, thirties, and forties; however, there's a good number of elders and teenagers mixed in as well. In any case, they may not be in uniform, but it doesn't take us long to figure out that every single person in that train is from Two.

"What is this?" I can't help but blurt out.

"This," states a familiar voice, "is our penance."

Despite my initial shock at the turn of events, I still have enough wits about me to shake Marcus' hand as he steps forward from the crowd before asking, "Care to elaborate?"

"When I went back, I brought a bomb fragment with me that had the serial number. We used that, along with documents found in the Head Peacekeeper's office, to confirm that our forces were responsible for what happened. So it was decided that our responsibility now is to show our people first-hand what we were complicit to, and hopefully to make amends by helping out with the cleanup process."

"Well we don't need your help!" jeers one of the guys from the work group. "Your district has done enough as it is to ours."

Marcus doesn't say anything to that but merely looks down to mutter, "Yeah, I know. And if you don't want us here, we won't take it personally."

Thom looks at the source of the outburst with a glare that silences any further dissent, though he still says, "Well it's not like we can stop you either way." That's true; there's about twenty of us and probably way more of them.

The former Peacekeeper just shakes his head at that, "We don't want things to be like that; if we're going to contribute any, we don't want to be an unwelcome presence. We want for you to want our help."

Not even a couple seconds passes for that to sink in before the former miner breathes, "Finally." And after a glance around to make sure there're no objections — sure, there's some scowls here and there, but nothing past that — he pulls Marcus into a hug while saying, "We'll take all the help we can get. So yes, you all are welcome here."

As the hug is broken off, Marcus briefly looks completely at a loss for words before he finally restores his composure. "I… well… in that case, everyone here is at your discretion." As if those words are a release valve, the people come streaming out before us to stand in formation. There… there has to be  _at least_  a couple thousand of them.

Our eyes widen not just at the sight but the implication as well, and I can't help but blurt out, "You mean… Thom's your boss?"

"Actually all of you from this district are essentially our bosses. Whatever you order — within reason of course — we'll do without objection. The same goes for the following set of workers that will be coming here."  _There's more?_

Thom actually looks and sounds like he's about to cry when he vocalizes my unspoken query: "There's… there's going to be more?"

"All these people are just here for the day. At sunset, they'll return, but a new batch will come by tomorrow, and so on. This isn't just to provide help, but to inform as many of our people what happened," the former Peacekeeper clarifies. "However, we'll keep a log to make the transition as seamless as possible. And all supplies and vehicles will be staying." To punctuate that last point, utility vehicles and trucks full of various tools come rolling out of the trains.

This is more than any of us would expect. We have just gone from a handful of people working with a paltry amount of tools to having a practical army — well in some ways literal, considering the likely backgrounds of most of the people before us — to use at our leisure.

So, considering how much he has toiled, it's understandable that Thom embraces Marcus — the former Peacekeeper looks more and more at a loss by the minute — again for a longer period of time while rambling his thanks in an incoherent manner. When he finally lets go, I don't miss that both guys wipe at their eyes before the former miner makes his next statement with a some thickness:

"Well then… let's get started."


	5. Confessions

Thom's words might as well be a gong. Because the crowd almost immediately begins moving forward to get to work.

District Two discipline is clearly on display as most tend to have an air of stocism about them. Though at the same time, many also have an air of resentment and reluctance, as if they were forced to be here.

All that changes when they walk further.

Because when these new arrivals get a good look at the ruins of this community, their demeanor takes a sharp downturn and most of them — even ones who obviously saw and experienced a lot this past year — freeze in horror as they survey the devastation. Stoicism breaks and resentment is replaced with wide-eyed shock.

After the initial shock, the crowd continues on its way in a markedly subdued manner. And indeed, when Thom and the others begin to assign them roles, they take their responsibilities without complaint, with the only possible commentary being requests for clarification.

If the arrivals were bothered at first sight, actually working here seems to tear into them further. One youth reminds me a bit of Cato in build and complexion… except for the little fact that he vomits and wears a stricken expression on his face when the retching stops; all the while, his companion tries to get him going even though she herself is at a loss for words. A group of well-dressed elders remain in despondent silence as they walk through what used to be the Peacekeeper complex. And, even with his respirator on, a man — one who most likely fought during the war; judging by his relatively fresh scars — can be seen visibly breaking down as he carries the charred remains of a child.

Then again, it makes sense. From what I've been told, most of the real assholes among the Peacekeepers have either been killed off in the war through combat or executions… or they became even bigger assholes by joining the Corsairs or Heirs of Winter. That leaves human beings who were simply on the wrong side; many of whom probably have friends and loved ones of their own. I won't mince words though, because they were on the _wrong,_ not just opposite, side even when factoring in Thirteen and the monster that's Coin. At the same time, it would not just be a dick move to remind them of that fact but also completely ; our surroundings seem to be sending a clearer message than anything I could attempt to say.

While it's clear that they're aware of my presence, most from Two seem to be actively avoiding me as much as possible, with any glance my way followed quickly by their eyes going to the ground. The strange thing is that they don't seem to be ignoring me out of spite; actually, for whatever reason that escapes my attention, it's almost as if they're _afraid_ to speak to me.

However, eventually one of them decides to break away from that pattern and walks in my direction, albeit with an obvious amount of hesitation. As he gets closer, it occurs to me that it's the same boy I saw puking earlier, and next to him the girl is evidently trying to dissuade him from approaching me.

So right when he's a couple feet away, and before he can change his mind — it's clear that he's only a few thoughts away from turning around and fleeing — I decide to initiate the conversation: "Mornin'. Can I help you?"

If anything, my question seems to distress the guy further, and he proceeds to mumble, "This… this isn't who we are. We… I…"

"Give it a rest, Onyx," the girl mutters; her attempts to steer him away from me finally appear to come to fruition. "Like Mellark wants to talk to any of us." I don't miss how heavy her tone is with resignation.

In any case, Onyx's shoulders slump as he bows his head and begins shuffling away with the girl’s arms around him. "Yeah, you're probably right." For a brief moment though, he raises his head to glance back at me and offer up a quiet, "We-I'm sorry."

I want to say some words of reassurance to them. I want to say that the apology isn’t necessity; that I don’t hate the people of Two; that we’re merely thankful for them coming even though they didn’t have to. However, my usually trusty rhetorical skills fail me as they wander off.

So with no idea what else to do, I sidle up next to Marcus to watch the progress of everything; the former Peacekeeper’s settling quite well into his role of overseeing his fellow district citizens.

"Loyalists hugging rebels…" he mutters while watching the couple. "I mean, Alvar was a Peacekeeper before he became a rebel, and I don't think either of them fired a shot in the war. But _still_ …"

All the former Peacekeeper's commentary earns from me is a raise of the eyebrow.

"I… dammit. Point," he concedes before shaking his head. "I guess it truly is a new era."

"Nothing wrong with that," I note.

"I guess not.”

Watching everyone, I voice an earlier observation: “Some of the younger ones seemed a bit reluctant at first.”

"Well,” Marcus remarks with a shrug, “those eighteen-and-under don't exactly have a choice in the matter."

That last part takes me aback. "You didn't make it purely voluntary?" Seriously, I would rather have people who are willing to help out rather than those press-ganged into assisting.

"If we had no problem with that age bracket open for reaping or conscription, we should have no problem with this," he counters. "Keep us from being a district of victims, and believe me when I say that there're plenty of reasons to do so. No matter how valid the actual tactic was, I'm still angry about the rebels gloating over the Aedes Bellonae. And there's no excuse for Camp Victory or how… how…" Marcus is unable to finish his statement and can only bow his head with clenched teeth.

I don't say anything to that — he's probably got enough vocalized condolences as it is for what happened to his family — but simply rest my hand on his shoulder. He tenses up for a moment, but ultimately the relaxing of his muscles hints that he accepts the gesture.

"However," the former Peacekeeper continues, "there's no excuse for the Games or how our Soldiers in White were used. There's no excuse for what happened to you and… so many others the Capitol detained. And there's certainly no fucking excuse for this. More people may have died in the Aedes Bellonae alone, but it doesn't make this any less of an atrocity."

"But a lot of the people here probably didn't even set foot outside of District Two," I counter, "much less participate in all that you mention."

"That doesn't absolve us of our complicity. Unlike the rest of you, we were happy to be the Capitol's slave, and our willing and blind compliance made sure that its crimes were able to be carried out. That's why it's so important that this happens. Without knowledge of this atrocity, there would likely be many who continue to deny there being reasons that the other districts came knocking on our door; instead, they would do nothing but continue to play the victim.

"That changes if you present them with the awful truth firsthand. It's why, after looking at proof from several bomb fragments gathered here and documents found back home, we decided on this. To help someone as a slight recompense was one reason, and like I said before, the other reason is so that reality would finally set in."

"It's apparently also why Marcus here told me to keep the Peacekeeper facility untouched," Thom adds, "at least until everything else has been completed."

"Yeah," the former Peacekeeper notes with a nod. "It's to show them just how much of a shit our 'Guiding Light' that's the Capitol really gave about us."

"Though," I point out, "if that's your intent, I probably should mention that it's probably impossible to get every citizen of Two here, even with your troop transports." Seriously, with daily circulation, it would take over a whole year to reach their population numbers.

"We don't need all or even the vast majority of people; just enough to spread the word. That's why the obligatory members for this trip consists of the regional leaders from every community in Two. And it's why we decided to include kids, albeit ones of reaping age, and teachers; to plant the seed in the next generation." Marcus proceeds to add, "Similar to that, it's why Gale convinced President Paylor to force all regional and rebel military leaders to tour the Aedes Bellonae and what's left of Camp Victory. Like us, they may have not been directly responsible for wartime atrocities, but it doesn't change their complicity."

"Huh, none of us got the memo," states Thom. I don't miss that he's already a bit exhausted from directing people. On the upside, all that military discipline means that those from Two don't need that much instruction to proceed with whatever they've been assigned to do.

"I think it's because we don't really have any regional leader," I mutter in turn. Hell, it was more than a bit generous to call Twelve a district _before_ the bombing; I'm really not sure what it is now since the current population isn't even in the triple digits.

"Oh… right. Well… I'll be willing to serve as a representative ASAP if you want. I mean, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about going there — the footage Cressida aired was bad enough — but it's just as fair that I participate."

The former miner's offer seems to take the former Peacekeeper completely by surprise. "O-oh okay. I'll let Gale know and give you word when I come back."

"Speaking of which, what does Gale think of all of this?" I ask. It's not hard to imagine that the old Gale would have truly enjoyed rubbing everybody's face in this… and then some.

"He's glad that someone's helping you guys out. But other than that, he's been noncommittal and purposefully out of the loop for now. We also have barred him from the meetings, and extensively recorded them to show a lack of his presence." When I ask why, Marcus adds, "It's so that any accusation of us being Gale's puppet will be completely groundless. Not that it would stop the more zealous in my district, but it should be in the tiny minority."

Huh, smart move. I'm also pretty damn impressed that they were able to get everything organized in such a short amount of time. "Well, I've said it before, but I really mean it that I'm thankful at what all of you are doing."

"Same here," adds Thom. "At the rate we were going, we probably wouldn't have been finished even by the year's end. Which would have kept people from returning, which would have left us with no workers, and so on… Seriously, you have no idea how much help this is. Some of the guys may not appreciate it right now, but I think they'll come around."

"Also," I add, "I really do hope that this would cause the other districts to quit shitting all over yours like I've been hearing." Though the fact that there's no propo crew to film this would probably make that unlikely.

My comment earns a noncommittal grunt and shrug from the former Peacekeeper. "As nice as that would be, I'm not holding my breath." There's not even the slightest trace of bitterness; just a matter-of-fact tone tinged with resignation.

I'm about to retort when the familiar sound of light footfalls — normally they should be silent but rubble-caked earth sort of makes that difficult — reaches my ears, and I turn to see Katniss trudging down the hill; probably to go hunting judging by the way her bow and arrow are carried. While there's still some distance for her to go to recover, I don't miss how much life seems to have returned to her since the day I returned, and by this point she looks like she's capable of moving around on her own two feet without it visibly exhausting her. She must be in her own little world at the moment because she doesn't even seem to notice anybody until she's pretty much in the midst of us. When she does finally look up however…

On any other situation, the sight would probably be hilarious, and you could probably be forgiven for thinking this is some elaborate Capitol sculpture garden. Because everybody is frozen in place as Katniss and the people of Two stare at each other like some wild animal caught in the crosshairs… except both are the prey. Considering how they were familiar with each other this past year, said context ends up taking the humor out of the situation … at least somewhat. I definitely don't miss how Katniss is piecing together the origin and background of our current guests… or how many of the vistors' eyes continuously flit over to the bow and sheath full of arrows.

In the end, Katniss is the one to break the tableau first by continuing on her way towards to the forest. In other words, she bolts off and continues to run in a full sprint until she's out of sight. The visitors themselves seem to be trying to figure out as to whether what they just saw was real or not as they gradually begin to resume their work duties.

During this resumption, Thom decides to be the one to break our uncomfortable silence. "That… probably could have gone better."

That just makes me snort: "You think?"

In Marcus' case, it doesn't seem like he knows what to think. "So… that's her…" he mumbles soberly. "I guess that's what you meant when you said that she 'could be better'."

"Yeah; though she's improved quite a bit than when we last talked. Still…" I can't deny how worried I am about her, and it probably shows in the form of a grimace on my face.

"So why the fuck are you still standing here?" the former Peacekeeper growls, and to my surprise, he's actually glaring at me.

As I piece together what he means by that, my attempt at a response just comes out in a pathetic sputter: "I… I can't just go after Katniss! What kind of help can I give in this situation? If anything, I'll probably just end up scaring her off even more! She-she doesn't want anything to do with me!"

"Uh huh…" _Great, now you have to pile things on, Thom?_

"NO! No opinions from any of you!" However, my yelled demands don't dismiss the fact that I now have to deal with everybody, Twelve and Two alike, around me giving me the kind of judgmental stare that bores into my skull even though I'm not even looking at all of them. _Do you all think I don't want to help? I do! It's just that it's too soon; I need to keep things gradual so as not to cause any shock. I need to give her space. It… I…_ "… Son of a bitch…"

And so with that muttered oath, I set off in a run of my own; well, at the very least, I try my best at it. It's bad enough that the replacement leg I got while I was recuperating in the Capitol these past couple months is pitiful at running with, and running through rubble is not exactly the easiest thing to do in general; the mixture of these two factors raises the level of suck to new heights.

Yet I still manage to keep up the pace — okay, maybe I stumbled and fell into a crumpled heap one… or two… or five times — all the way to the busted fence.

_Where did she go? Where would she go?_

Since I haven't actually been in the woods with Katniss, the only thing to do is a time-honored technique of mine: wandering around aimlessly — I do sort of utilize some strategy by following what looks like a path — in the hope of running into her.

Which to my surprise, I actually do. I don't know how long I've been wandering — it could've been minutes; it could've been hours — but I finally come across Katniss perched on a rock overlooking the forested hills. I admit that for a moment, the scenery holds my attention captive — this early in the season, everything is either a light green or a patchwork of flower-laden colors — until I'm almost right on top of her.

Of course, I also probably should have called out Katniss' name ahead of time. Because the moment she notices me — honestly, I'm a bit surprised that I actually saw her before she saw me — she strings her bow and whips around to aim right at my heart.

Okay, so this isn't the first incidence of this happening, but my balls are probably not going to be coming down any time soon; granted, I'm pleasantly surprised it didn't cause me to go nuts. "Whoa, it's just me." Honestly, I'm also surprised that my voice is able to come out as calm as I hold my hands up in a placating manner.

A few seconds seems to pass for my presence to register because that bow's still strung as Katniss stares at me with a panicked expression, but that panic soon shifts to mortification and shame before she lowers the bow and allows it to clatter to the ground. While she pulls her knees up to her chest and turns to face away from me, I slowly walk towards to the rock and just as slowly lower myself down upon it as if any sudden movement would scare her away.

It's best not to mention how I almost got a free offering of heart surgery and instead focus on what's important. "You gave us a bit of a worry running off like that. Something spooked you?"

Of course I have a good idea as to what spooked her, but sometimes with Katniss, if you want to get a reaction you need to do something that she finds exasperating. Which I succeed in because she looks at me as if I'd just declared my love for the Capitol. "Haven't you seen our district?"

A bit of a noncommittal shrug. "So we've gotten a few new guests."

"From District Two! You know what we did to them! And now… now they're coming to finish the job! They've come for me, and I'll probably deserve it."

See, this is why it was a bad idea for me to come! Because things are obviously going downhill. I mean, I guess that the upshot of this means that Katniss has regained some sense of self-preservation if she's rambling in fear, but I don't want her to stay in some state of paranoia for the rest of her life.

In the following seconds, I don't know what comes over me. Because before the two of us realizes what's happening, I do something that's probably on the stupid side: I wrap my arms around Katniss and hold her close to me. Within my embrace, I can feel her tense up a bit and pull away, and I'm about ready to let go and apologize; however, to my surprise, she relaxes and melts back into my arms… though her ramblings seem to turn into small dry sobs.

"It's okay. It's okay," I breathe as I gently rub Katniss' back. As the she finally falls silent, I add, "No one's coming to get you. They're here to help."

That seems to catch her short, and she pulls back to look at me in a puzzled manner. "Help?"

"Yeah, they're part of a rotating crew that will be working daily to get Twelve cleaned up in due time. It's kind of a way of them saying sorry for our district being obliterated. You actually met the guy who arranged the thing."

More puzzlement. "I did?"

"He's the one who stuck a gun in your face before you got shot." Okay, maybe the phrasing should have had more tact.

Recognition finally seems to click behind her eyes. "At the Nut…" And that's when a hopeful tone enters her voice: "He's still alive?"

I nod my head. "He asked about your wellbeing. In fact, while they did hate you during the war — actually they sort of still hate the rebels now — many people from Two actually admire you for calling to give them a chance. And that's why they are here. So you don't have anything to worry about from them."

My hope was that the statement would reassure Katniss and calm her down. For some reason, though, it actually does the complete opposite. "This just proves I don't belong," she mutters.

"Katniss—"

"I thought they were coming to kill me! I thought _you_ were someone else who was coming to kill me, and I almost killed you because of that!"

"'Almost'," I note. "Key word there, and not exactly the first time you aimed an arrow at me. Real or not real?"

"Real." Good to know that routine still works. "But that's not the point. They were right in sending me here, and still it's not enough. I'm probably going to treat everybody as a threat because that just the kind of person I am: distrustful and deadly. I'm a threat. It… it's why I should probably go."

 _What._ "What?" Is she saying what I think she's saying?

"I should go." Katniss' voice sounds so tired when she repeats that, but those three syllables still cut into me. "Leave and head off into the wilderness. I'll be breaking my parole, but it's not like they'll waste their time looking for me."

 _Is she… is she really considering this?_ "But… but you can't go."

"Who says I can't?" she retorts, and to my horror, there's actually some conviction that's creeping into her previously-wavering voice. "I know how to survive out he—"

"I'm telling you, please don't go!" I don't even realize that I'm screaming, or that my hands are clamped down on Katniss' shoulders as I kneel on the ground, until I finish that statement. Though right now, even I'm aware of how pitiful I look and sound. "Please…" Except I don't care.

"Peeta…" I look up to see that she seems to be looking at me with a mixture of shock and concern, but it's not until she brushes a slender hand against my cheek that I realize I'm actually crying.

"You once told me that you needed me…" I mumble as I hear drops of my tears hitting the leaves beneath me, "during the Quell. Real or not real?"

For some reason, she flushes dark. "Real. You were trying to convince me that no one needed you and that you should die in the arena."

"Well, I'm telling you right now: _I_ need you." _I really do._ "I-I know it's selfish of me to say, especially after all that's happened, but it's true. When you were wasting away in that fucking prison they put you in, I felt like I was losing my mind. And now I know that, I… I don't think that I can manage if you… if you…"

"Peeta…" Whatever she says next, I can't discern it.

"So I'm begging you… please don't leave!"

Silence settles on the wake of my plea, and we remain stuck where we are: Katniss standing and me groveling at her feet. _Great work, Mellark. Because being all pathetic and making demands like this would really convince her to stick around._

It's only when my tears finally abate that I hear her quiet voice: "It's just… I don't feel like I can fit in Twelve anymore."

"It's because you've been pretty much shut in for the past… who knows how long." Okay, that was a bit harsh. "At this point, many people probably don't feel like they fit in anywhere. Doesn't mean that they can't give things a shot."

"Maybe…" Admittedly to my own selfish glee, I can hear her conviction wavering.

"Definitely," I state and finally look up to see that there's still lines of concern and worry etched on Katniss' face. That's when I get an idea: "Tell you what, why don't you give this a couple weeks. If you really feel that you can't fit in by the time those weeks have passed, I won't even try to stop your departure. How does that sound?" _Please say yes._

Several agonizing minutes pass in silence as she appears to mull that over in her head. Finally though she mutters, "Fine. But I can't make any promises, and I think you don't give yourself any credit in being able to survive on your own."

 _She really does have no idea the effect she has…_ Still, my response is to give her a big hug and ramble out a varied string of thanks; this time, I manage to do so without breaking down and blubbering.

When we finally part, Katniss adds, "If it's okay, can you just… give me a moment? I'm not ready to go back just yet."

"But you will be back by evening," I add, trying and failing to hide the desperation in my voice, "right?"

"Don't worry," she says with a huff and scowl, "I promise I'll be back by then. Okay?"

"Okay!" With one final hug — I've probably surpassed my hug limits — I move back towards the town. It's clear that Katniss needs her space for the moment, and I should be helping our guests; I actually have an idea that will make me useful for once.

I just need to… just need to… _uh… dammit._

"Um… heh… Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

"Which way is home?"


	6. Small Victories

In contrast to the aimless meandering involved with me trying to find Katniss, it probably takes her just a few minutes and straight shot to get us back to the boundary.

"Thanks for guiding me." At least something's remained a constant despite everything: my abysmal outdoors skills. "So I'll see you later?"

Instead of answering my query though, Katniss responds with silence and a fidgety chewing of her lip.

"Uh… Katniss? Something wrong?"

"I think…"  _Oh please don't say that you want to leave already…_ "I think I want to walk back with you."

Not expecting that. "You… you do? Because I'm returning to the square."

Katniss nods her head and states, "Can't make promises that I won't go to my house. But since you say that there's going to be more coming from Two, I might as well try to face them now." I must be grinning or something, because she immediately scowls to add, "Like I said, no promises, and if you're going to be like that, I might as well go straight home."

"Okay okay…" I concede with hands raised in supplication. "Can I still be happy for your decision to mingle with them?"

The scowl deepens. "I'm not going to mingle."

"Whatever you say…"

As with the trek out of the forest, our trip back up to the square mostly proceeds in silence. Honestly, just having Katniss walking at my side fills me with a certain measure of contentment, especially since she's looking healthier by the day.

Of course I, being me, break that silence: "Well they're really nice people. I'm sure you'll get alo—"

I don't get to finish my sentence as the sound of commotion reaches our ears, and a crowd can be seen forming in the near distance. When the workers see us approaching — I can practically feel Katniss tensing up at their stares — they part to reveal the ruckus.

And of course there has to be a kerfuffle.

I have a suspicion as to what had just transpired. Because as of this moment, the girl carried upon Onyx's shoulders screams various profanities, and one of the local workers — the same who yelled at our new volunteers when they arrived — is busy curling up on the ground and nursing himself. In the meantime, Marcus looks extremely flustered and unsure where to direct his frustrations, while Thom… Okay, you'd expect Thom to be upset at someone from our district being physically assaulted, but if anything, the only emotion he's expressing is slight embarrassment.

I'm not sure what the full conversation was about, but the girl’s screeched proclamation makes the scowl on Marcus' face deepen to the point that that it's hard to tell he's not from the Seam, and he proceeds to mutter, "I don't have a stick up my ass."

"Mind telling me what's going on?" To my pleasant surprise, and despite the light tone I use, my query causes those who weren't already aware of my presence to fall silent and turn their attention to me. Part of me is glad that I can once again captivate an audience; the other part suddenly realizes I just put myself in the spotlight and, judging by the expectant look everybody is giving me, took upon the role of mediator.

"Ask her," the former Peacekeeper growls while jabbing a thumb towards the source of the profanities.

Before I can do so, however, the girl snaps, "I didn't even want to be here, much less be insulted."

"Okay, so what happened?" I ask, even though I suspect that I won't like the answer.

"He said that we deserved what happened at the Aedes Bellonae!"  _Oh great…_  "That we had what was coming to us, and that we got off lightly! Well… he got off lightly by what I did to him."

Even with the deep steadying breaths I take, when I turn to the man standing back up, my question hisses through gritted teeth: "Is this true?"

In response, he just spits, “So what if it is? We never asked for them either. After everything they’ve done, I’ll be damned if I allow a bunch of Careers and Peacekeepers to finish the job.”

“Nobody here went through the Volunteer program,” Marcus mutters.

“Who cares?” the man snaps back.

The hatred being emanated from my own neighbor takes me aback; this is beyond just mere frustration or even incident-based anger. Still I try to maintain some diplomacy: “I know you’re angry about what happened here; you have every right to be. However, even if there were Careers in the group, our guests aren't the monsters who bombed our district. They aren’t monsters, period.” I don’t miss the shocked expressions in the crowd at that last part. “They're just trying to move on with their lives and help us in the process.”

“You don’t hate us?” Onyx asks in awe; his companion is too shocked to say anything.

“No, I don’t,” I state firmly. "Look, don't get me wrong. I hated how Two blindly supported the Capitol; I hated how the Games were trumpeted as a wonderful thing and kids were brainwashed to actually enjoy killing other kids; I hated how your Peacekeepers enforced brutality and starvation amongst the districts.

“However, I never hated Two itself or the people in it. Despite my experiences, I certainly didn't hate Cato or Clove. Hell, I consider Enobaria good company. And I knew enough Peacekeepers to know that not all of them were like Thread or the ones who… oversaw me in the Capitol." A wave of nausea begins to rise, but I manage to force it before offering a smile to everyone. "As of now, I still don't hate you."

"What about Brutus?" someone else in the crowd asks.

"Okay, he was an asshole. But I certainly didn't enjoy killing him if that's what you're wondering, and my point still stands," I state before sighing. "In the end, I'm sorry for what happened to all of you; I really am. Unlike what you're doing now, I know I'm just spouting words not backed by actions of substance, and I'd completely understand if you don’t accept them. But what I say is the truth, as is my complete gratitude."

I really don’t understand why, but in the wake of my speech the crowd’s struck dumb, and many of the visitors stare with dumbfounded expressions as if seeing me in a new light.

Soon though, the silence gets broken by a mocking clap, and I look to see the source of the original altercation sneering at me with contempt:

"Typical. Why am I not surprised to see you taking their side over that of your own people?"  _What did he just say?_  Though before I can retort, the sneer grows. "Then again, to call townies part of Twelve is generous. With even less numbers on your side, I guess that allying with the Twofers is the only thing you can do to feel big again. If not for one of our own being your district partner, you probably would have—"

I don't let this asshole finish. Honestly, with the implication he's making about the merchants, it's not like I can comprehend the rest of that diatribe as it melts into a drone as hazy as my vision right now. But whatever he's about to say next, those words come out strangled as I tackle him with my hands wrapped around his throat.

Everybody else makes a collective squawk of distress, and to my great satisfaction, the expression on the asshole's face morphs from contempt into fear as he tries to paw ineffectually at my arms. Despite his struggling, and despite the other hands — it vaguely occurs to me that it's that of the visitors instead of the locals — tugging at my arms, I don't budge; though I allow my squeeze toy just enough room to breathe.

"Do these hands belong to Katniss or a Career? Does it feel like I need others to fight for me?  _Have you forgotten what I did to Brutus?_ " I don't yell, but rather allow my voice to come out in a low growl, and my message is clearly getting through. The asshole tries to rasp out a reply, but I cut him off: "Rhetorical question. But keep talking, and maybe we can test which one of us needs the help of others to feel big."

A couple more seconds are allowed to pass before I finally let go. In turn, those attempting to restrain me — ironically my current anger is probably the only thing that's preventing a freak-out; I'm not exactly one to react well to having hands on me due to… reasons — immediately haul me back up to my feet and keep their grasp, even though I've already had my say.

That wasn't my hijacked state talking; it's all me… and I regret nothing about it.

As the asshole scrambles back, he looks expectantly at the others from Twelve gathered. To my honest surprise however, they don't look too sympathetic at his plight; a bit bemused at my reaction perhaps, but not sympathetic. And the only thing Thom says is this: "Go home, Zach."

At this point, Zach's surprise is joined by anger. "Are you seriously taking their si—"

"Go. Home." I've never heard Thom express anger before. But even though he doesn't raise his voice the slightest, he has no trouble conveying it, and I can appreciate how he's able to hold the unofficial leadership position here. "You're done for the day… Or perhaps the rest of this time."

As Zach the asshole stomps away back up to the Victors' Village, Thom turns to the rest of us: "To the Twofers here, I'm sorry about what Zach said. I really hope this doesn't affect things. Though next time, I prefer that you come to me with any grievances instead of resorting to violence. And to those of  _our_  district…" — A pause is given as he looks pointedly between his Seam compatriots and me. — "Remember Peeta’s words; at least the ones before… you know. Also, remember that there is no more Seam or town left to divide. Snow is gone; so don't let his specter stick around to keep us divided. If you insist on dredging up old hatreds and divisions, I'll point you to the train station."

With the finality of Thom’s speech and the diffusing of the situation, the crowd finally begins to disperse to go back to working.

"Are you alright?"

Katniss' query causes me to start a bit before I turn back to her. "Huh?" That's when I notice how cautious she's looking at me, and now I feel a bit guilty for losing my cool in front of her like that; I still don't feel guilty for the action itself. "Oh… that. Yeah… not my proudest moment — I'll definitely have to talk to Dr. Aurelius about it — but I wasn't going mutt if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, okay…"

"Which reminds me: just to be on the safe side, I should probably let you know what precautions I have in place just in the event of an episode. I haven't had a violent one since the war, but you can never be too sure."

I can tell that I'm starting to make Katniss uncomfortable with the topic of my hijacking, but I think that it's important she's well-informed about it if we're going to be interacting with each other.

Perhaps ironically, she's saved from further discomfort by the tentative approach of one of our guests. More specifically, it's Marcus, who looks unsure as to whether he should leave Katniss alone or say something. She saves him the burden of decision-making by actually giving a hug, to which he can only reciprocate by returning it in an awkward and hesitant manner. When they finally break apart, they begin to talk to each other about something, but I'm too far away to hear what they are talking about; instead, I'm more focused on an idea that's brewing within.

So when I situate myself right in the middle of the work crew, I holler out something for everyone to hear: "Alrighty then, if you don't mind, I'd like to appropriate some of you for a little project. So to start off, how many of you can bake?" To my pleasant surprise, several of the visitors tentatively raise their hands. "Excellent. Keep those hands up. Now how many are good at following instructions dealing with measurements, and how many can transport heavy items well."

By now, I've got at least twenty hands raised, to which I tell them to follow me up to the Victors' Village. When I get there, and once I get Sae and a couple other houses on board with what I have planned, I immediately put my work crew to… well… work carrying out the task at hand: baking cookies.

Now it's stretching the resources I have — right now there's a couple hundred pounds of flour, sugar, and other ingredients stored away in my kitchen courtesy of Paylor — for the number of people available, but I think I'll be able to pull it off. Without wasting time, I disperse various recipes to the ones with baking experience, have the stronger individuals ferry ingredients around, and task the rest with prepping the kitchens. And within fifteen minutes, there is a full-scale operation underway.

Once things get started, it's amazing how fluid the process is, with everyone requiring little guidance as to what they are supposed to do and every role meshing seamlessly with each other. Besides their role at carrying supplies, strength-based guys like Onyx do a good job at keeping morale up and a tempo going by either singing various military hymns or cadences that the others — even some of us natives — join in on. And within a couple hours, we end up enough cookies of various forms to go around.

When we arrive back down, I'm pleasantly surprised to see that Katniss has reneged on her original plan to not mingle with our guests, and it's clear how much of an effect — which she's still probably utterly blind to — that she has as she goes among them. Between the despair and devastation sown between the Capitol and the Rebellion, I'm happy for any form of inspiration being salvaged from there. The same goes for the way these workers' eyes light up when they bite into a cookie and I tell them there's enough to bring back for their families.

For me, it's the type of victory that counts.

~oOo~

As promised, more trains come in the following days, with the usual reactions from the visitors when they arrive. In one week, even the Exiles send a sizeable envoy, including their consul and governing body, to help; apparently a lot of discretion's been required for that to happen.

The only people who aren't shocked are those coming for repeat visits, and there are actually quite a few who decide to do so, with some eventually holing up in the empty houses so as not to deal with traveling back and forth. Katniss and Onyx even start exchanging tunes from their respective districts to sing and buoy sprits during these ordeals. Along with the work crews, come extra supplies of baking ingredients so I can continue my little project.

And like Thom had hoped for, this contribution from District Two ends up doing in a few months what would probably be difficult to achieve in a few years with the number of people we initially had. By the end of the April, almost all of the remains are buried and hazardous waste cleared away. By the anniversary of the bombing, during which Paylor visits to host a solemn memorial service, there are no more ruins — barring a prominent structure here and there — left standing, all large pieces of rubble have been cleared away, and rains have washed away and mixed the ash into the soil.

In the meantime, between her treatments, keeping active, and being among our guests, Katniss gradually comes back to life. I won't say that it's a smooth process, as there are still occasional days where she refuses to emerge from her home, but I'm more than sure that her plan to leave has effectively been dashed.

One idea that has especially been effective is a "memory book". She got the idea from the plant book we worked on — that reminds me that there are a few entries I want to finish up — and after talking to Dr. Aurelius about it, he was enthusiastic enough to send supplies. The premise was simple in itself: you'd start with an image of a person — namely someone long past — and from there would write something about them to keep their memory alive. Naturally, we started with Prim and Katniss' father, but it then expanded to my family, then other important people long gone, be they from District Twelve, the arenas, the Capitol, or the Rebellion.

I won't lie: it's not easy, and there have been many times when the pages we work on become unusable due to drops of saline. But we soon find that the measure of closure gained after each page's completion outweighs the heartbreak during its formation. I've also found that sketching all these people has helped me with my memory; there are still gaps here and there, but I can feel them being filled in.

Other people begin to give accounts as well: Katniss mother, Cressida and Pollux, Thom, Sae, Beetee, Johanna, Annie — her son already looks like the best of his mother and father — and even Dr. Aurelius. As difficult as he is still — I have yet to completely forgive him — even Haymitch starts filling us in on our parents, his tributes, and fellow victors. The only person we don't contact for this or even mention is a certain former hunter-turned-commander in District Two, despite the fact that I personally chat with him over vidcom on a regular basis.

Marcus, being one of those from Two staying for the short term, also eventually joins our dinners; most of them involve him and Katniss exchanging stories about Darius. One day, I give the former Peacekeeper a sketch of his redheaded friend joking around with Sae at the Hob; in turn, he gives us a photograph of them as kids to place in the book along with the stories.

Recovery, be it with us or the district, is a slow process, but it makes steady headway.

Around late July, and as the cleanup process begins to taper off, Marcus heads back to his district for about a week. We assume it's just to visit his family, but when he returns, there's an official-looking document that he gives to us and Thom.

While there's a flowery statement at top, what draws my eyes is the list of various locations, with various resources listed by them. That's when it occurs to us that those locations are all mines and quarries that contain what District Two has to offer: limestone, clay, sandstone, granite, marble…

And it's after I actually read the statement that it finally sinks in what this document states: these resources are available for the rebuilding of District Twelve…

Free of charge.


	7. Debt

"You're kidding me…"  _I mean…_  "This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Real or not real?"

Whatever answer Marcus was expecting from us, it's probably not this considering his frustration. "Not real." By now, he's familiar with my little quirk and how to respond appropriately. "Why would it be a joke?"

"Do you seriously expect us to believe that a bunch of quarries are just going to give us their entire product free of charge?" My last three syllables are punctuated by my finger prodding that document.

"Well of course not," he scoffs.  _That's what I thou—_ "They are merely giving you access to whatever is needed to rebuild the place to however you wish. We have full confidence that you won't build the entire Capitol here."

"That's a pretty big show of confidence." Thom's on the same track as me. "You're saying that we can rebuild our town as grand as yours, if on a much smaller scale."

"Actually, we expect that; it means that you're using our resources to fullest potential," the former Peacekeeper notes. "Anyways… after you finish drafting a plan for a building or some other improvement, send it to the main office, and they'll contact the appropriate quarry to send the material over."

"No. We can't accept this." Katniss' response doesn't surprise me in the slightest.

Though it just makes a scowl grow on Marcus' face. "Why not?"

"It's too much," she says while sliding the document back to him. "There has to be a price. And before you say it's because you bombed Twelve, that debt's already paid in blood and sweat from you."

"And your people came to help remove the bodies from the Aedes Bellonae," he counters as the papers go sliding back to us.

I guess that's true. After Thom visited Two, he came back visibly shaken. And right after that, he made an extremely firm suggestion for the people of Twelve to lend a hand. With most of the physical work done by the people of Two, it's not like leaving would leave a dent in the effort here. So things were done in rotations, with one half going and the other half staying to manage things on the home front until a couple days later when things are flipped around.

The only people who didn't participate were those unable to go — the unwilling had already left due to Thom's "collusion with the enemy" — and they contributed in their own way; turns out that Sae's granddaughter is really good at making simple dolls from discarded fabric, and a box of them is going with a box of my cookies on the next Two-bound train. In general, most were utterly drained from the experience, even though many have been exposed to war as well as the remains of this district. At Katniss' insistence that she'd be fine for those couple of days of my absence, even I actually went for one shift along with Haymitch; it… probably wasn't the smartest idea on my part.

Still even with that point, Katniss is undeterred, and those sheets go back to Marcus. "And how many people was that? Twenty? Thirty? "

"It was still pretty much your entire district," he murmurs; his voice accompanied by the sound of paper sliding against wood.

"Except for me. I didn't even help out." Slide… "And have you forgotten that I brought the war to District Two?"

"It's not like people don't know about the restrictions placed," the former Peacekeeper notes. "And yes, you may have been the symbol of the war that ravaged our district. But what matters is that, at the square, you showed us for who you really are: someone who was willing to extend as much compassion as she was willing to fight with honor. Even just your mere presence while people worked here did wonders for morale. So don't think that you've done nothing."

Despite his reasoning, Marcus' words are still countered by Kantiss'… and vice versa. All the while that little stack of papers keeps going back and forth… back and forth…

Finally, with the document right in the middle of them, the former Peacekeeper throws his hands up and barks, "It was their choice to do it! It's their gift! Are you going to refuse someone's gift?"

And finally, Katniss seems to deflate with that simple question, which is understandable. I mean, how do you refuse someone's gift without coming across as utterly ungrateful and close-minded? "I just don't want to pile up a debt," she murmurs. Ah… and that's what it comes down to.

"Neither do I," Thom adds. "I'm grateful for the help you brought, because it's clear we could have never gotten things done with the help we had before you showed up. But this… you have to understand that it comes off as charity. We'd be shackled with a debt that we don't know how to repay, if it's even possible. I'm not sure how to explain."

I'm not sure Thom needs to. Because those words visibly sap the energy out of Marcus as well, and something in his eyes tells me that he completely understands what they mean; I guess there are more than a few things Two and Twelve can have in common.

"Are you at least be getting compensated for this in any way?" I ask, hoping to figure out some common accord that can be reached. In all honestly, despite the surprise and almost excessive nature of the offer, I'm open to these supplies reaching us considering that we don't have any rebuilding material in stock. While there're no space issues now, if we actually want this district to be active and no longer be a burden, we're going to have to expand past the Victors' Village.

"President Paylor found out about our plan and offered to cover the cost, and despite our objections, she insisted. So we allowed it with one condition: that the money would be directed towards our… memorial fund…" As Marcus is explaining, I can see some sort of realization begin dawn in the former Peacekeeper's eyes, and right on the heels of that realization a rare grin graces his face. "Which is exactly why you should accept."

"Because each time we ask for something, your fund gets money from the government," I finish. I'll admit… that's possibly one way to get around the issue of debt. "What do you think, guys? By letting them help us, we're helping them. Win-win."

Of course, while Thom looks thoughtful about that, some people are harder to convince than others; that much is obvious considering how Katniss is chewing her lip as her eyes flit back and forth between me, an increasingly anxious-looking Marcus, and that document that has been such a source of contention lately. I don't know how much time passes while she's in that state, but we don't rush her

After that indeterminate period, though, she finally emits a sigh… before getting up and running out of the living room.

In her wake, a palpable silence falls in the space; a silence which is finally broken by Marcus: "I can't say I was expecting that response," he mutters with a completely crestfallen expression. Honestly, I'm more than a bit disappointed as well. I mean, I know Kantiss is a stickler about debt, but seriously…

However, before I can make any sort of response, she comes running back; except this time, she has a pen in one hand and a sheet of parchment — it occurs to me that it's the same parchment used for our book — in the other. Almost immediately upon taking a seat, Katniss begins writing in that sharp but clean script of hers. "Honestly, your idea sounds good, and I like that'd we'd be helping you that way. But it still feels like we aren't giving back enough." Within a few seconds, she finishes whatever she's writing, adds a signature, and slides that paper to me the same time that she finally drags the documents from Two over to her. "Which is why I'm offering this," she states while pointing to the simple statement:

" _As a show of gratitude for all the help given, District Twelve pledges to offer support in any way it can should District Two call for assistance." — Katniss Everdeen_

I don't even have to think about it to add my signature underneath Katniss' before handing it Thom; it takes him even less time to add his own signature before passing that sheet to Marcus.

Barely a couple seconds of scanning the sentence passes for the former Peacekeeper's eyes to go wide. "This… also wasn't what I was expecting."

"It may not be much," Katniss says with a small shrug, "but it's as much as we can give."

"But… are you sure others will go along with it? You saw how hesitant some from Twelve were in the beginning."

"As of now," Thom counters, "everybody here is grateful for Two's help. And if anybody who moves here later complains about these terms, we'll simply ask them what they did to help get this district cleaned up. Fair enough?"

"I…" After a couple seconds of trying to choke out an answer, Marcus simply settles for a jerky nod and quietly murmurs, "Fair enough. Thank you."

As he offers that thanks, the former Peacekeeper rises with his hand extended. So I decide to be the one to take it… before jerking him around the table to envelop him in a hug and, "Thank  _you_."

After Katniss and Thom follow suit, we settle back down for idle chitchat over snacks. Haymitch actually drops by and we fill him in on the details, to which he pretty much reacts like I had; with complete surprise that's followed by quick acceptance and a signature on the paper. The sun is just starting to hit the treetops before Marcus and Thom take their leave; the latter is planning on going door to door with both District Two's proposal and Katniss' statement to get everyone to sign said statement.

As we see them out the door, my former mentor decides to have the final word: "Hey Limpy!"

By now, the former Peacekeeper is used to the nickname — granted, he's still not that much of a fan of the old victor — and he simply stops and turns in midstride to issue a polite, "Yes, Mr. Abernathy?"

Haymitch raises his glass to the younger man and states in the soberest manner I've heard him in a while, "Olympia would be proud."

"As would Darius," Katniss adds.

All Marcus can do is to become frozen where he is for who-knows-how-long. Finally he breaks that by giving us another jerky nod — this time, it's laden with a disproportionate amount of blinks — before wishing us a good evening. Haymitch follows up by downing his glass and mutters something about wanting to check on us and makes his departure as well; I really need to get something to keep him busy with something other than booze.

Which just leaves us two.

Not knowing what to say to each other, we simply focus on doing the dishes. However, as I place the last teacup on the drying rack, an important fact finally hits me: we can actually rebuild District Twelve.

"Haven't we already been doing that?" Katniss voice makes me turn to see her with a confused scowl.

Didn't know I was thinking out loud but might as well continue: "Well yeah, but what have we been doing so far? Cleaning up the place so it doesn't become an environmental hazard; making sure the dead are buried; in general, doing things to just make the place livable. But with this offer… we'll not just be able to restore Twelve as our home, we could actually rebuild it into a home to be proud of."

My explanation must not be that convincing, because her scowl deepens. "How? There are less than fifty of us here. Without a job, it's not like more will come back, and without people, it's not like anybody will invest."

Despite the cynical counter, my spirits aren't dampened. "People will return. Never underestimate the attachment we have to home. And as for jobs, I know that Paylor's figuring something out for us that won't involve coal dust all over the place."

Katniss' scowl actually begins to soften a bit, which must mean that I'm on the right track. "I'm not sure…"

I don't know why, but I actually take her hands in mine — to my surprise, she doesn't draw away — before looking straight into her eyes, "You don't have to be sure; just trust me on this. Can you do that?"

There must be a whole bunch of misgivings within Katniss, and it's with good reason. I mean, considering all that has happened so far, why shouldn't she, or any of us for that matter, be suspicious about what the future will bring? Yet, in spite of all that — in spite of every voice of reason and logic that tells her that this is probably an idiotic idea — she doesn't hesitate to say, "Yes."

It may be irrational, but for whatever reason, that simple monosyllabic response causes a surge of giddy happiness to swell inside of me. And in that state of being overcome by said surge, I end up conveying my gratitude to Katniss. Except that it's not in a verbal manner but an unthinking one that's probably the epitome of stupidity:

I kiss her on the lips.


	8. Awakening

_What are you doing, Mellark? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?_

Those horrified thoughts are barely able to race through my head before I break off the kiss and take a couple steps back as the full enormity of what I just did begins to sink in. With that realization, I can feel the blood drain from my face to settle as a rusty anvil in my stomach.

"Katniss… I can explain."  _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_  "I… I really don't know what came over me."  _You call that an explanation?_  The whole while that I'm rambling, I have my hands held out in front of me as if they'd keep her from fleeing from my presence.

And why wouldn't she? I had to barge through her personal boundaries like the complete idiot I am! All of the last couple months that we spent painfully building up a level of trust and friendship — at least that's what I hope it was — are now possibly for naught because I couldn't keep control of myself.

However, instead of fleeing, all Katniss does is just stand there silent and frozen where she is, with her eyes wide and fingers held to her lips. Then again, why should she flee? This is her house. I, on the other hand, am merely a guest.

_Wait… I'm the guest… I'm the guest, and I just violated her in her own home!_

An excuse of a whispered apology barely has time to leave my lips before I make my departure; in other words, I scramble away as fast as possible. In my flight from Katniss' house, I forget about a loose plank on the front steps, which my left foot catches on to send me careening to faceplant in a sprawling heap on the footpath. Yet, despite the stinging on my arms and face, I immediately get up — okay, add probable bruising on my legs and torso — and don't stop until I find myself leaning against the counter in my own kitchen.

It's only when my breathing begins to slow that my thoughts clear despite the physical ache throbbing throughout my body. Of course, that mental clearing doesn't exactly help things as I'm confronted with the full enormity of my indiscretion.

Except… part of me can't help but think about how those lips felt — even though they only made contact for just a briefest of seconds — and it almost feels like it caused a spark within me; I'm not exactly sure what, but it almost feels familiar. It also feels utterly terrifying, and whatever fleeting moment of… whatever I may have gained from that is not worth the potential irreparable damage, even when things have been looking up.

Forget about the probable wrecking of our carefully repaired friendship; what if my actions set her recovery back? What if my proximity to Katniss means that I'll continue on the trend of hurting her, knowingly or otherwise? I didn't even stick around for her reaction but rather fled like a coward.

I need to make things right. Granted, I don't know how I'd be able to do it, but I have to think of something fast before—  _… the hell?_

All prior thoughts dissipate as the vision in my right eye becomes obscured with an accompanying sting, and my hand automatically goes to wipe at my eye. It's then that I realize that my whole face is slick with a warm wetness, and when I remove my hand I see that it's completely coated in a glossy rippled crimson that drips onto the floor… which I now can see has been painted in splotches in that same color and leading all the way to the door… splattered splotches that are fed with a metronomic pattering falling from my arms and face… splattered splotches that coalesce and pool into a larger mass at my feet… like the pool grow at where Boggs' feet use to—

 _NO!_ I work to force the image out of my head as I rush to the sink to clean myself off. However, no matter the amount of water that's splashed into my face or how my trembling hands are being scrubbed, the flow of crimson just won't stop; rather all it does is blossom in the basin and swirl in a spiraling vortex down the drain.

I can't help but take a step back from the red cyclone that has formed, but in doing so, I fail to take into account that puddle I had created; it only take my foot landing on it for me to lose balance and be sent crashing to the ground. It's only now that I realize first aid should have been applied, but those cabinets are looking really high right now. There's something almost familiar about how I feel right now.

_All that's missing are the berries._

_Wild berries… sugar berries… poison berries… she's trying to kill—no, she's trying to protect me. That's what she does. Protect me. But she needs protecting too. I need to protect her! I… I…_

Except all I can do is lie here as oblivion tears through the space to reach my useless form.

Though even as the darkness consumes me, I can almost swear that my name's being called…

~oOo~

Through the murky darkness punctuated with a tableau of death and destruction, a soft melody cuts through it all and becomes accompanied with a sweet herbal aroma that I can't pin down. Heralded by a muted light that grows in radiance, those intertwined tendrils of song and scent seem to banish away the darkness while gently embracing me in warmth as I'm lifted into that ever brightening light. The sensation feels strange… yet strangely familiar… and comforting.

It doesn't last however, and light begins to gain shadows and forms within it as I'm pulled into full consciousness.

It must be evening already; because sunlight streams through the window to bathe the girl kneeling next to me in a luminescent golden-orange. I can't believe that I even briefly thought of her as not particularly pretty; even without the light giving her skin a glow and bringing out the shining strands of her anthracitic hair, Katniss is absolutely radiant.

She also seems unaware that I'm awake now; rather humming a tune to herself — it's one of the military melodies from Two, though her voice adds its own touch to the song — as she works on a poultice; the contents of the modern first-aid kit and various wild herbs lie amongst each other in contrast at her feet. It occurs to me that this is a reversal of a situation we went through during our first Games; I don't even have to ask whether it's real or not as it's something I'm completely sure about.

"Hey." Of course, me being me, I just have to ruin the moment with the inability to keep my mouth shut.

And ruining the moment is indeed what happens. For as my monosyllabic greeting leaves my lips, the melody dies in the air the same moment Katniss freezes on the spot before slowly turning her head to regard me. When movement finally returns, the expression of surprise morphs into that patented scowl as she pours all her energy into the work at hand… and away from me.

 _Yep, she's definitely pissed off._ Granted, it's better than her shutting down or something similar. And I don't say anything further as she finishes off the poultice.

Finally, after she gets done applying it to my forehead — after the initial sting, I can already feel an ache begin to fade away — Katniss leans back to mutter, "Don't ever scare me like that again."

With her demand hanging in the air, I might as well say something now: "Katniss, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, but I know I shouldn't have kissed you. Do… do you think we can move past this?"

For some reason, my apology causes an unreadable expression to cross Katniss' face, and her eyes bore into mine when she states, "I wasn't talking about the kiss."

 _What?_ "What."

Before I can express my befuddlement any further, she leans in and locks her lips upon mine.

That sensation — the one that I just got a brief taste of when I kissed her earlier — returns… it returns in a tidal wave that threatens to drown me where I lay. Except… I welcome the torrent; I allow it to carry me away to be drowned in a state of being that could only be described as absolute euphoria… the type of euphoria that doesn't satisfy but leaves me yearning for more as it courses through my body.

To my surprise — considering my usual thoughts about, as well as the usual reaction to, anyone's hands on me for a prolonged period of time — when her calloused ones roam under my shirt and across my skin, I actually don't feel an overwhelming urge to struggle against them; I actually don't feel afraid when she lays her body on mine. If anything, I feel myself calmed and grounded by her presence. So I allow my own hands to slide along her back and our limbs to intertwine as the scars on our bodies complement each other before merging as one.

In this moment, there's nothing and nobody to stop us.

In this moment, we are inseparable.

Of course, all good things must end, and both of us part short of breath as if we'd just nearly escaped the fate of drowning; the scent of earth and leaves still lingers upon me. As we manage to get our bearings back on track—well… almost all of them; though if Katniss notices, she's not saying anything about it. Granted, she's not really saying anything right now but lying next to me with a flushed complexion and hunger in her eyes.

Despite every urge within me to try and sate it, I pull myself up to a sitting position and scoot back to rest my head against the counter.

"That… was… that was wonderful. Real or not real?"

"Real."

~oOo~

I move into Katniss' house the same night of the kiss, and we end up resurrecting the routine of sharing the same bed. While our lips and hands find each other way more than those nights on the train, we still keep our clothes on and don't progress beyond that. What's more important is the fact that we're there for each other when the nights become unbearable. And with sleep becoming more stable as a result, we find ourselves ready to tackle the days more invigorated than before.

Just as well considering how good Two is on its word.

We didn't even have to say anything initially. Rather, within a couple days of Two's proclamation, news came from Paylor that there were plans to build a medicine factory here. It took us a while for the implication to sink in: that we would have a place to offer jobs that don't involve workers going into cramped spaces as their lungs fill with coal dust.

When said implication did finally sink in however, even Katniss was cautiously pleased about the turn of events. And when our initial bout of ecstasy wore off and after some discussion about the coming factory would look — in other words, it'd be some pre-fabricated structure set up cheaply — we found ourselves looking at the contract given to us by Marcus. Because of as silly as it may be, we were actually toying with the idea of having a place that would look nice. So with nothing to lose, we asked for specifications as to what sort of space the factory would need, drafted rough ideas about how it may look like, and sent those concepts with the specifications to the address provided on the contract.

Within a week, a detailed blueprint was sent back to us with a request for feedback, which we responded to with approval. Another week later, and just as the ground was being broken, a train arrived laden with shipments of brick and limestone.

While the new construction machines are from the Capitol, most of the workers coming here are definitely from Two, with many of them recognizable from previous visits. Some have even confided that they're planning on settling here.

So that's how, in less than a few months, we've gone from merely hoping that our district didn't keel over on itself… to drafting plans and concepts to rebuild our square better than before.

With the rebuilding, and it becoming clear that Twelve's not going to be consigned to the fate of a mere tragic footnote in the history books, people start moving back in earnest; after all, it's home. Before long, the Victors' Village — I had to completely clean out my paint room before anyone moved into my former house — is filled to capacity, and temporary prefabricated houses are brought in until construction commences. Of course, despite not being the ones to fix the place up in the first place, there are a few who don't hesitate to voice their displeasure about Two having such a strong presence. True to his word, Thom lets those dissenters know just how welcome their opinions are and makes sure to point to the train station if they are  _that_  displeased about the situation; more often than not, they suck in their pride and stay.

One person who's not returning is Delly. Even if there wasn't something extremely painful about lingering here for her, she tells me that staying in the Capitol — her brother moved to Two at summer's end to live with the Hawthornes; no surprise there as Eli and Rory have been close for years — and helping people from there is a much more rewarding experience. She's even planning on enrolling in the University of Panem, and the work she does allows her to attend classes free of charge. That my best friend isn't living here is bittersweet; bitter for the obvious reason, but sweet because I'm glad she's found a niche that suits her. Besides, the other benefit of her job is that she can visit frequently; so we always have a room available.

At this exact moment though, we're not hosting any guests, and it's just as well.

Because this night, as Katniss and I embrace in bed, we leave the clothes off.


	9. Katniss for Katniss

"Looks like  _somebody's_ still on a bit of a high."

Thom's words cause no small amount of warmth to creep to my ears. _Am I that obvious?_

"Yes," he notes in response to my not-so-internal thoughts, "you are. Didn't help that your bedroom window's open."

Besides the former miner's muttered commentary, everyone else has knowing smirks on their faces; smirks that cause warmth to spread across my whole face and likely turn it beet red. However, despite a slight amount of embarrassment, I hold no shame about what happened last night.

Yeah, our first time was a bit awkward, especially considering the lingering reservations to that point, despite me agreeing to Katniss' request; hell, she's the one who kept asking whether I was fine with it. I'll even admit to a couple painful fumbles here and there from both of us, and there may have been a few times when the placement of hands or bodily contact caused upwellings of terror-laden nausea within me. However, it became all worth it.

Still, that's probably not the reason why my happiness is so obvious. Because while the physical pleasure gained from that night was wonderful, it all paled in comparison to what she told me:

" _Real."_

I didn't need any further convincing, nor did I hesitate to murmur back:

" _I love you too, Katniss Everdeen."_

So yeah, I'm pretty happy, and it'll take more than the peanut gallery to put a damper on things.

And fortunately, once the snickers abate, we're able to actually focus on the task at hand, which is the finalizing of details on the administrative center and memorial.

It's quite amazing how far we've come, which can be seen in the diverse make-up of the non-natives who are attending the meeting: foremen from Two, civil engineers from Three, technicians from Five, architects and landscape designers from One, and even transportation engineers from Six; that last one's a challenge as that district isn't exactly a fan of ours. District Twelve is still in charge of the creative process; Thom actually assigned me the role of drafting up concepts; I had various documents sent to me detailing the architecture of the region from pre-Rebellion and even pre-Cataclysm eras to help with ideas. However, everybody else is here to make sure those ideas can transfer into reality.

At the conclusion of the meeting, and as everybody begins to disperse, I call out, "Neal, you're going back to District One for a few weeks, right?"

Cochineal Taylor is the lead architect on our council, and she's probably been the most instrumental in making sure that my ideas make it to the final draft.

"Yeah, I'm heading out tomorrow," she says before looking at me in perplexity. "Why, something the matter?"

"Do you know any good custom jewelry makers there who would be willing to take a commission from me? You know… even with…"

As I trail off, the architect actually barks off a laugh. "You're still worried about that? Sure we were upset, but we still recognized the Games as Games. Besides, right now you could personally raze our city center, and people still wouldn't hesitate to accept a commission from you." For a moment there, an expression of bitterness crosses her face. "Luxury goods aren't exactly in high demand right now."

"Oh…" With that explanation satisfactory, I bring out an envelope and hand it to her. "In here is something very important to me, as well as detailed sketches and instructions telling what I would like done with it. Money's no issue."

With my permission, Neal takes a look at the contents; when the architect sees the contents of little vial accompanying my sketches, her eyes eyes widen. "Is this…"

"Yes," I affirm with a nod. "That's why I'm putting a lot of trust in you."

"Well, don't worry about that," she states. "I'll make sure you only get the best."

~oOo~

Over the past couple months Katniss and I have hosted a wide assortment of people at our house. Of course, there have been a fair share of profiteers and media — so far, only Cressida and Pollux are allowed to set foot in the neighborhood — who try to weasel their way in only to be rebuffed at the train station. However, more often than not, those who've contacted us came over for legitimate reasons.

Sometimes, it's a case of us doing the inviting. One example being the invitation of Rue and Thresh's families, who managed to survive the crackdown and war due to Chaff and Seeder's safe zones. Besides the knowledge of their safety, the expressions of delight among the kids when we gave them various desserts was enough to make up for the accompanying heartache in dealing with mutual loss, especially from Katniss when she talked in private with Rue's family. After the families returned to Eleven, the district ended up sending gifts of its own: one hundred and twenty peach trees; figuring out where to plant them was an interesting task considering that there's still not that many buildings placed yet.

Anyways, today is no different in terms of us willingly hosting people.

Despite being married, the couple sitting and sipping tea before us are about as different in appearance from each other as can be. The woman has a willowy build with merchant-like blue eyes and blond hair set in a finger-waved bob. In contrast, the burly man next to her has a complexion that's almost as dark as the light brown of his eyes or the auburn of his hair and beard.

Though there are more than a few similarities as well. It could be how their clothing and accessories give away the fact that they aren't exactly wanting for money; though with the sort of low-key tastefulness that many Capitolites lack. It could be the soft twang of their voices that, while way more refined than what I've heard from a fellow tribute, gives away their origin. And it could be that, despite their warm demeanor, there's a sense of alertness and cunning about them that hint at their former roles as regional co-commanders of District Three.

Now, they are merely the co-executives of one of the largest non-governmental entities in Panem. How they managed to build that company up within the year I have no clue.

And really it doesn't matter. "Mr. and Mrs. Bannon," I say, "I hope that the tea and cookies are to your liking." Because, barring Two's donation, they are currently the biggest investors to the rebuilding of District Twelve.

Mrs. Bannon fixes me with a motherly smile — at least… I think that's how a mother should view her children — as she waves her fan. "Darling, you don't have to be so formal. Please, call me Iris."

"And you can call me Vector," her husband adds. "If anything, we should be deferential to you two."

"That really isn't necessary," Katniss notes. It doesn't take a mind-reader to know that she's tempted to add,  _"Nor is it exactly desirable."_  Really, both of us prefer to be viewed as people rather than idols.

To my pleasant surprise, Iris gives us both a sympathetic nod without pity. "I thought as much. Anyways, to be frank, we in Three tend to prefer our tea iced and already sweetened. But this is fine nonetheless. Of course," she states while plucking a lemon bar from the cookie tray, " _these_ are the real stars. If you don't mind me asking, have you ever thought of rebuilding your bakery?"

Honestly, the idea has occurred to me more than a few times, though no more than just an idea. It was tough enough to give the go-ahead to clear away the last of the rubble of the old one — I still go to the site to leave a wreath or just talk — and I'm not sure how willing I would be to rebuild on top of it. Of course, I merely answer with, "I'm thinking about it, but right now the priority is with rebuilding the district."

Something about the way both Bannons look at me seems to suggest that they don't buy my explanation as the complete story. Which makes me all the more glad that, instead of pressing for details, Vector holds up our other provided snack. "And these chanterelles… I take it you were the one who picked and cooked them," he notes with a pointed glance towards Katniss. I can't help but feel a bit of pride in the fact that her cooking abilities are recognized.

My girlfriend — it feels wonderful to call her that — nods: "I saw that the patch was ready to pick this morning and thought it was best to fry them when I heard we were going to have company."

The executive takes a moment to eat the battered golden mushroom after dipping it in an herbed buttermilk sauce. "Well, an excellent choice, I must say," he comments. "Our son likes to go into the wilderness as well, but it's not exactly advisable to gather anything to eat at the edge of the city."

"Of course," Iris cuts in, "while we could talk about this delicious food all day, you know that's not why we're here."

"Of course," I parrot in acknowledgement. They're here to oversee the progress of the medicine factory. While the idea for the facility may have started in the Capitol, it seems that ownership of it will transfer to the Bannons, who will be the ones to oversee operations. "So why the visit? I suspect this wasn't just so you could meet the Mockingjay and her boyfriend."

"Well there's that," Vector admits, "but you're right in that it's not the only reason."

"We simply want to make sure that our presence won't be unwelcome," Iris explains before holding her hand up. "Yes, I know; it's not like you're the main decision makers here in District Twelve, and we're talking to others around the district. We still find both of your opinions of value."

"Well, so long as it doesn't affect the ability for everybody to have a job, I don't really have anything to add," I note with a shrug. "Granted, we prefer that the original designs stay in place."

"Don't worry about that; we think they're lovely. Though I reckon there may have to be some tweaking for expansion, and our logo will adorn the place. We'll send you any alterations for approval."

"Perfectly fine. Though out of curiosity, does your company even have a logo or name yet?" Last I checked, everyone just knows it as that rapidly-expanding company in Three that's not as dickish as the rapidly-expanding company in Six.

"We're still working on that," Iris admits, "though it'll be finalized by year's end."

"More importantly: why are you doing this?" This time, there's no mistaking the suspicion in Katniss' voice when she cuts in. "I mean, why are you taking over this factory?"

To their credit, the Bannons don't look the least bit surprised or bothered at her candor. "You mean besides the profit gained from the sale of those pharmaceuticals?" asks Vector.

His question surprises me a bit in its boldness, but Katniss doesn't show any disconcertion with it to her credit. Instead, she asks, "But it can't be any more than the factories you already have in your own district."

"It's also always good to expand influence. The uncomfortable truth is that, if we didn't take control, someone else will, and they may not be so willing to listen to the people here. So we'll have a base of power in the east, and you'll get state-of-the-art tech and a place to work. Win-win."

"The thing is," Iris adds before we can respond with anything, "while the reasons my husband gives aren't false, they aren't the main ones. Us wishing to repay you for taking upon the burden of that mantle isn't the main reason either. The fact is that you could say this is a social experiment."

"What." That word barely leaves my mouth before I notice that Katniss is echoing me.

If Iris notices how confused we are, she makes no acknowledgment of it except to explain, "We aren't just interested in creating a for-profit corporation; we're in the midst of building up an organization in parallel with our company just for the sake of helping this nation and the people in it."

"How does that tie into Twelve?" I ask.

"Simple," Vector states, "District Twelve, for lack of a better word, used to be the most impoverished district in the nation before that atrocity occurred. Now it's in the process of rebuilding from a blank slate, which gives us a good baseline to work from."

"And if the people of this district not only have stable jobs but gain new skills to make this community even better, imagine the possibilities of applying similar concepts to communities in other districts," Iris posits before raising her cup of tea. "Our wish is that your generation and the ones after will be able to grow up in better world. It's why we fought in the Rebellion last year, and it's why we're creating this foundation now."

 _Huh…_  Honesty, while having this district be considered an experiment is a bit unnerving, another part of me simply thinks that, if the people of this district benefit, it'd be great for others benefit as well. Still… "Just to be clear, this social experiment doesn't involve you tracking every inhabitant of the district, right?"

"Other than the security cameras and guards for the factory itself? You don't have anything to worry about," Iris assures us. "I believe that we'll be able to see the results of our efforts without relying on surveillance technology."  _Whew…_

I glance over at Katniss, and while she doesn't look one hundred percent convinced, she no longer looks suspicious either. Probably helps that this isn't full charity either. "So you say that you have a son…"

"Turns eighteen this December," Vector states before uttering a soft chuckle with a shake of the head. "Sometimes we wonder how he's made it this far."

"Well maybe we can meet him next time when you're here," I chirp. "It's always nice to get to know people our age."

I don't know why, but for some reason the Bannons cast uneasy glances at each other before changing the subject.

~oOo~

"I don't know why I have to close my eyes; I'm not even completely dry right now." Even when I don't see Katniss' face, I can hear the scowl in her voice.

"Let me take care of that," I state while patting away the last remnants of water from her face and torso with one hand while holding the box — after just over a month, Neal came back with it yesterday; not even I have seen the contents yet — in the other.

With a toss of the towel to the side, I ask, "Okay, are you ready?"

"To open my eyes?"

"Not just yet," I chuckle while opening the box, "but I'll take that as 'yes'."

I only allow myself a brief glimpse of the necklace before carefully draping it around her neck. Wow… it's… it's even better than I imagined it to be.

As I close the clasp at the end of the chain, my words come out on the hoarse side: "Okay, you can open them now."

The moment Katniss' eyes open, her scowl slips away to be replaced by an expression of realization… then astonishment.

"I thought it was destroyed…" she murmurs as she reaches up to touch the pendant hanging at the end of the platinum chain… a pendant that takes the form of three gold-fringed petals of platinum surrounding a single scuffed pearl.

"It was recovered by a relief crew, but by the time that happened… you were… uh… indisposed. So it was given to Haymitch, and he gave it to me," I explain. "I'm sorry about not giving it back earlier, but I wanted to wait till the right moment. Honestly, I'm still not sure what the right moment is but…"

As my rambling trails off, Katniss still doesn't respond for quite a while but simply continues to stare at her reflection. After a while, I'm begining to get worried; that is, until I hear the soft whisper:

"It's beautiful."

Satisfied, I give a light kiss to her ear. "Not as much as you."

 


	10. Going Abroad

_The Office of the President of the Republic of Panem hereby grants a full, free, and absolute pardon to Katniss Everdeen for any and all criminal offenses she has or may have committed up through the date of the signing of this decree. It is on this twentieth day of March, in the international year of twenty-five hundred and fifty-one, and the two hundred and second year of the foundation of the nation of Panem, that I set my signature and enact this pardon before all witnesses present._

_Brinna Paylor 03/20/202_

I've scanned this statement who-knows-how-many times already, and the implications of its words are only now beginning to sink in. From the look on her face, it's the same thing for the actual intended recipient of the pardon; actually, Katniss has been frozen on the spot ever since I showed it to her.

Yeah, she probably should have been the one to see it first, but curiosity got the better of me after repeated walks by that yellowing government-seal-blazoned envelope sitting on the dresser. After asking for permission and getting a noncommittal shrug in return, I tore open the envelope to allow several documents to spill out. Which leads us to this point.

As that realization finally sinks in and takes root, a grin grows on my face. "You know what this means, right?"

"I have a good idea…" Katniss still looks fairly suspicious; as if she expects the document to suddenly catch fire and be revoked if she allows herself to accept the facts and be glad. Her demeanor does put a bit of a damper on my enthusiasm, as does another fact:

_The twentieth day of March…_

I really can't help but heave an exasperated sigh when I actually pay attention to the date.

Of course I don't really blame Katniss for not bothering with the document. It's not like we've exactly had a good track record in dealing with the government; not to mention the first couple official letters addressed to her were from Plutarch repeatedly asking to send a camera crew here to get the Mockingjay to sing for his blasted show.

Still… three months… three months have passed since that pardon was issued. Three months during which we could have gone anywhere together — I mean, I know that she hasn't exactly expressed interest in traveling, but that doesn't mean we can't entertain the notion — if that envelope had been opened earlier.

Katniss must sense my discontent because she immediately sends me a scowl: "It's not my fault this was the only way they notified us. Why didn't they just announce it on the television?"

"You know as well as I why they didn't." The government can't afford to make it look like they're soft on unsanctioned vigilantes; even ones that are symbols of the conflict that got it installed in the first place. "Besides, do you want the publicity?"

The scowl turns into a grimace. "No. But they could have least called and told me about this."

Okay, she's got a point there: why didn't they simply call us? Granted, it's probably no coincidence that Dr. Aurelius told Katniss around that time that she's no longer obligated to report to him; we still make appointments, but they've become much more infrequent.

"Besides," she adds, "if they wanted this to be subtle, how do they expect us to travel?"

I suspect that even if my lover didn't care about said subtlety, she's not exactly keen towards the idea of sharing a train with the public right now.

"Actually," I note while bringing up another document, "it says here that a transportation service is already provided for us. We just have to call the stated contact and tell them where we want to go, and they'll take us anywhere we wish to go within the nation. Seems simple enough." More likely than not, that means it will probably be a military hovercraft.

"I guess."

"Come on," I mutter with a roll of my eyes, "the dedication's coming up. Do you really want to stick around during that?"

My words hit the right point, because Katniss immediately shakes her head with a grimace.

In a few weeks, the second anniversary of the bombing is going to come around, and with it, a dedication. This time, there's going to be an unveiling of the memorial: a set of stone walls and columns inscribed with the names of all lost in the bombing; designs provided by District Twelve and stone provided by District Two.

Looking ahead, however, there's going to be another ceremony: a ground-breaking for the new military base. Officially, the reason for this base is due to our district being at a strategic spot at the edge of the northeastern frontier. The unit itself won't be a regular ground force but a smaller specialized unit; Third Ranger Battalion they're calling it. While the official reason makes perfect sense, I suspect there are a few additional reasons: first being a way to keep Katniss safe due to the various terror groups on the rise and second as a way to keep District Twelve relevant; there are murmurings from various politicians about cutting off support for the district due to its "insignificant size" and "ties to the Peacekeeper district". The presence of the base would not only add additional relevancy to us; it would likely bump our population up by  _at least_  several thousand.

Despite her general distrust of the government, Katniss actually hasn't really expressed any opposition beyond her natural level of skepticism. The only thing she opposed was the original name, which was to be Camp Mockingjay. So after some negotiation, they changed the planned name to Camp Artemis; when my lover found out that the name was still homage, she was grudging but ultimately accepting. The other thing she negotiated was the surrounding region becoming military property subject to live exercises. The nice thing is that the Army's accommodating to her desire to leave the wilderness open to the public; once operations begin, any outing will have to be coordinated with them so as to prevent incidents, and to be on the safe side, there are several areas of land completely off-limits to either the public or military exercises.

Anyways, it's not the dedication itself that makes Katniss anxious lately; though neither of us want to deal with the media. Rather, it will be who's attending it — just as fair considering his role here two years ago and how he's one of the founding members of the Rangers — that has her flustered. I don't think she hates him, but it's clear them meeting will lead to nothing good.

Thus the original plan was to stay holed up in here for those few days; at least, until now.

"So, since you have no wish of staying here, why don't we try this out and go on a trip then?" I postulate. "In fact, you can pick the destination."

This time, there's zero hesitation when she responds:

"Let's go to District Four."

~oOo~

After making sure everything's packed up, we get ready to head out on our way. Besides the essentials, we also got several gifts to bring with us: a case of wild herbs for Katniss' mother, an aromatic box carved from juniper for Johanna, a painting of Finnick for Annie, a toy for little Abulon — it's going to be his first birthday after all — and a substantial set of various baked treats for everyone.

The nice thing is that we're no longer required to walk or rely on getting a lift from somebody when having to carry things around the district. A trolley system opened up just a few weeks ago and goes through all the important spots, with the ability for expansion if need be; the cars themselves were even made with space to accommodate game. Chalk that accomplishment to several independent factories that haven't bought into the rest of their district's rhetoric but instead wished to repay us in some manner.

Unlike the national railway, the trolley system is fairly low-tech; though it's coincidental and not an homage, it's actually reminiscent of the carts used in the mines, especially in the ability to overcome the inclines that cover this community. Instead of being powered directly by an engine or magnets, the trolley car moves by gripping onto a constantly-moving cable — powered by a central operating center — that pulls it along; the operator on the car itself stops the transport by setting the brakes and causing it to let go of the cable, and things start up again by reversing the process. Besides the ease of travel it gives, especially in times of inclement weather, the need for power plant and car operators means that this system has the added benefit of being a consistent source of jobs for people in this district.

As we sit at the aft open-sided area of the car — there is a enclosed section in the middle for when the weather becomes uncomfortable — I appreciate how the road is no longer a dust path but paved with brick and stone tiles; also that it's now flanked by new houses with all of the style and none of the rickety threat of the past, various gardens to bring life back into the community, and peach trees that are now laden with their fuzzy fruit.

I also marvel at the keystone of our work. The massive structure overlooking the square is based on Twelve's old pre-Dark Days government building — some tweaks added here and there; many by me — and shines in stone and copper; the only element not imported from Two is a frame of anthracite brick— sourced from a Capitol storehouse — that borders the main entrance. Besides the governmental role — to the surprise of no one but him, Thom's appointed as mayor — the building will serve as a community space as well as housing a library and district museum. That last part is from an initiative started by Paylor to increase literacy and critical thinking throughout the nation; due to said initiative, libraries are being built and stocked with uncensored copies of various books and documents courtesy of the Archives. It's definitely a step up from the old Justice Building — which could fit in the domed main hall of this one — and I swell with pride every time I see it; those who donated the material should be proud too.

Already, the preparations are being made for the dedication coming up in a couple of days. Banners are installed on the still-unfinished shops and admin building around the square, a podium has been erected, and media are already streaming into this district; I have a feeling that, for Katniss, we could have not left soon enough.

After passing through the shrouded memorial flanking us — it will be unveiled at the dedication ceremony — and the park that surrounds it, we finally arrive at the transportation center. I only spare a glance at the refurbished train station and completed medicine factory as we disembark from the trolley and head towards the hovercraft port; just in time as well, as I think this our ride that's in descent.

The… okay I'm not even sure it's a hovercraft, but whatever it is, the vessel landing before us is way different from most hovercraft — Capitol or Thirteen — that I'm familiar with. Certainly, it's about the same size as one of the transports, but that's about it. It could be the matte finish that's different from Capitol silver or rebel gray; it could be that it lacks the arrowhead-like form that the other hovercraft have; or it could be the rows of blood-tipped fangs and rage-laden eyes painted at the front of it.

In any case, I don't get much of a chance to muse on that as the disembarking ramp lowers and out strolls a victor.

"Katniss! Peeta!" Beetee states with no small amount of warmth. "I see that you're ready to head out. Just give them a few minutes to do some ground checks, and you'll be off in no time." So he's here for the opening ceremony as well.

As we shake hands, I state, "Sae will show you to where you're staying. I hope you'll enjoy your time here."

"Honestly, I already feel a bit at home," he notes while looking at the surrounding forest-covered hills. "Word of warning: you'll some… security accompanying you."

"Security?" If the look in her scowling eyes is any indication, Katniss is already balking at our original plan.

The District Three victor just offers a dismissive wave in response: "Oh, you can actually part ways for the most of the time while you're in Four. Just know he's accompanying you at least for—"

"Hey, Uncle Benny, you forgot your… stuff…"

As the interrupting statement trails off, I look towards the source to see a uniformed and tattooed youth frozen in the process of holding a duffle bag out towards Beetee; said uniform is as unfamiliar as the aircraft before us.

The soldier doesn't even bother introducing himself when he bolts over to shake our hands with zeal before going on a hyperactive praise-laden rambling… or something along those lines; it's hard to tell when there are little-to-no spaces between the words. Despite a facial scar and visible weapons suggesting he's far from harmless, the earnest friendliness and cheer this guy emanates immediately puts me at ease; he's like Delly's long-lost athletic and caffeinated twin.

With Katniss getting the brunt of the attention at the moment, I use the reprieve to mutter to Beetee, "He's our 'security detail', isn't he."

The victor gives the slightest of nods while grabbing his duffle bag and muttering back, "I may have forgotten to tell him who his charges are. Just a heads-up: he may ask about your leg."

_Wonderful…_  "This is going to be a long fight, isn't it."

This time, Beetee just smiles and claps me on the shoulder as he walks past me and my girlfriend… who stares daggers at me.

_A really long flight…_


	11. Rebuilt

It's upon our return to Twelve that I decide to rebuild the bakery.

Yeah, I've mulled the idea over again and again… and again. And yeah, each time I've backed away from said idea for reasons.

However, bringing the treats over to Four and seeing the expressions of joy that grace everyone's faces when they dig in made me realize just how much I enjoy doing this. I also realized that I'd be doing my family a bigger favor by starting anew instead of trying to retain the site as some sort of shrine.

Plus, Katniss and I decided that it's time we got our own place; a place that will be located on top of the bakery like before. In the end, even with the two of us living together, the house provided to us feels too spacious in all the wrong ways; not to mention that, while all of the surveillance bugs were supposedly removed upon my return — let's just say seeing the pile of thumbnail-sized video and audio devices was quite disconcerting — there's a feeling of oppressiveness about the place. More importantly, I find it important that we live our lives in a place created with our input.

When I suggest my plan at the planning meeting, I can't help but feel a bit flustered when  _everyone_  present heaves a sigh as if this was long overdue — I swear that Thom even mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a "Finally…" — and a couple of the surveyors immediately bring several prints showing plots of the land where the bakery used to be.

Just as well that I have my own concepts. Even though the bakery and home are being rebuilt, it doesn't mean that it's going to be anything like the old one. With a foundation of granite and walls of brick — similar to most of the other buildings around the square — as well as a ground-floor dimension of a little over thirty by sixty feet, it will be much larger and sturdier than before. The first floor would be dedicated to the bakery, with an additional ten feet out front for the porch, and a planned basement includes a storage cellar and shelter. This gives the second and third floor room for our living space; large enough to include the desired amenities with enough room to be flexible, yet small enough to feel cozy. And above everything is the rooftop garden so the both of us can grow herbs and vegetables or simply relax. And just for the sake of having a little touch to the building, I add an oriel window on the corner of where my studio/study/safe room is located.

Fortunately, my concept is not only well-received but found to be completely feasible with only a few minor tweaks. Granted, when Katniss sees that my plan includes four extra bedrooms, her suspicious scowl seems to cut through my rationale about having space in the event that we'd be having eight guests or something like that.

We also don't let Haymitch off the hook. It's clear that he doesn't use his entire mansion either, and someone has to look after him. So, after some pressuring, my old mentor relents and allows me to design a small bungalow behind the bakery; I even give some space for him to have his geese.

And so with the last tweaks made and materials obtained — a couple of them being from several distant sources — we finally begin rebuilding not just a bakery but a part of my life.

~oOo~

"You ready for this?"

Katniss quirks an eyebrow at my query as she straightens my suit jacket. "I'm not the one speaking."

"But I know how you are about cameras. You don't have to—"

Her hand on my lips silences the rest of my vocal concerns, and her scowl keeps any other concern from being raised. "Peeta Mellark, if I didn't want to be there with you, I'd be in the forest. So shut up and make your speech."

Despite the little tirade, I can't resist a small grin. "Yes, dear."

That just causes Katniss' scowl to grow, and she's not exactly gentle when maneuvering me towards the front. Granted, said maneuvering is deliberately within acceptable boundaries as I'm still a bit feeble from my recent operation; turns out that dying repeatedly is not healthy on the heart, which decided to malfunction a bit. It admittedly took a bit of convincing to get me onto an operating table, but the status of the new heart they grew for me — includes my genetics and everything — is a good sign. Just as good of a sign is the status of Katniss' new spleen and Haymitch’s new liver. While he has no wish to join me outside, my old mentor still claps my shoulder and raises his glass — there’s booze in there, but the alcohol content is progressively weaker — in a toast.

Cool crisp air heralds early spring when I step onto the porch. That breeze is laden with the sweet scent of pink peach blossoms that grace the square and contrast with the sturdy buildings of brick and stone — it occurs to me that I'm one of the last spots to open here — as well as the warm glint of sunlight reflecting off the crown of the administrative center. Accompanying the melodious trills of early songbirds is the lively and animated drone of chatter emanating from the crowd that fills the square itself.

As I approach the podium, the chatter dies down as everyone focuses their attention and goes still. For a moment, I take the time to evaluate all before me: the district citizens making up the bulk of the crowd, guests of honor seated either at the front or behind me on the porch, the girl of my dreams standing beside me, and the news crews— while media in general are allowed for this event, Cressida and Pollux are still the only ones whom I allow on the porch itself — that are ready to broadcast this nationwide.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you all for attending. And don't worry: I won't keep everyone from the food for long." An appreciative chuckle arises from the audience and breaks the spell. "But first I'd like to say a few words."

I start out with the usual generic welcome, introduction, and acknowledgement of those responsible for helping convert my concept into reality. Special care is made to thank the Europan, Phoenician, and Parthian delegates for their donation of high-quality equipment; my appreciation is supplemented with the assurance that I have some bibers, challah, and naan created just for the occasion, as well as the hope that I didn't screw up the recipes, which earns more chuckles. Then I get into the main part of the speech:

"To think that almost exactly two years ago, I stepped off a train to be greeted by utter devastation. I stepped into what was left of my district to meet people unsure about what the future will bring." To her credit, President Paylor looks contrite at my words when I spare a glance in her direction. "And I stepped into my neighborhood with the fear that I may never be whole again.

"However, something amazing happened. From the ashes of an action representing some of the worst that humanity can offer, came a series of actions representing the best.

"Actions representing leadership…" As I look towards Thom, the mayor waves at the camera as Bristel claps him on the back.

"Actions representing responsibility…" Marcus flushes a bit when the camera turns to him and the rest of the guests from Two.

"Actions representing generosity…" — The camera moves to the Bannons, who sit along with the various individuals who donated resources to the reconstruction of this district. — "ingenuity…" — Members of the planning council raise their glasses to me. — "and a willingness to take risks to make things work." This time, I gesture to the several thousand people representing the population of Twelve; the probable irony is not only that most of them originate from other districts, but that the largest fraction is from Two.

Finally I extend my hand to Katniss and pull her in close to me. "And most importantly, actions representing love." Okay, that last line's cheesy even when recited in my head, but it doesn't change anything and the audience doesn't seem to mind. "It's these actions and contributions that turned the wasteland of the old District Twelve into this new District Twelve that you're currently standing in. It's these actions that allowed this building behind me to come into fruition. And it's my hope that these actions will drive the growth of this nation into a better tomorrow."

"So without further ado…"

I motion for Thom and Paylor to join me at the foot of the steps where a ribbon is affixed taut between the banisters. With both their hands on my shoulder, I take out a razor and sever the connection with a flick of the wrist.

And as the two halves fall in a flutter and cheer rises from the crowd, I find myself actually looking forward to what the future may bring.


	12. Epilogue

***3 Years Later***

As the sun begins painting the sky into a warm rainbow of hues in the western sky, I flip the sign to signify that the shop is closed before turning to my employees who are already tidying the place up.

"Alright, everything almost ready?"

"Yes, sir!"

At this point, I simply chuckle to myself at all three teens' — even Rice who, unlike Gordian and Marcia, originally came from Eleven — simultaneous exclamations of the honorific.  _You can take someone out of District Two, but you can't take District Two out of them._  I've long given up trying to tell kids from that district that they don't have to refer to me as "sir" but, as demonstrated, it's gotten to the point that their habits have been involuntarily adopted by their non-Two peers; granted, it's just as fair considering that their speech is starting to be affected by our drawls and twangs.

Besides the building we're in, one major difference between this bakery and its predecessor is that I hire help. With the increase in population, there's not just been an increase in patronage — it's amazing the appetites soldiers have — but also a pool of people who can help out with the increased workload. In the morning, most of my workers are those with experience for both complex recipes and business management. However, the later shift consists of kids who are still in school; more often than not, they're either the children of workers who moved here during the rebuilding period or family members of soldiers now stationed at Camp Artemis. The helping hands free up my schedule for other responsibilities, and my employment bolsters their experience with pay; win-win.

In this case, these kids get to help out with something very important.

After sweeping the floor, cleaning the counter, storing away the leftovers, and drawing the curtains shut, they bring out some candles to set at key points before lighting them.

"Great job everyone, and just in time," I chirp while glancing at the clock. "I think she's going to be here any moment now. So you all best skedaddle."

However, on the heels of my suggestion, I give a pointed glance to the storage cabinets. It earns a matching set of grins from them as they grab as many pastries and cookies as they are able to carry before making a mad rush out the door.

"Happy spring!" I call out to their retreating backs.

"You too, sir!"

As I shut the front door, the back one opens while being accompanied by an amused query: "What's with your helpers? I come up the street and see them bolting from here as if there's a boar inside."

"Well, there's just someone here who's not too far off the mark." My nonchalant statement earns Katniss' trademark scowl, but there's no missing the smile tugging at her lips, which I return in full as I approach her for a kiss. Upon parting, I ask, "How's work?"

Katniss emits a tired sigh before going on a rant about the current issues in opening up part of the forest to allow tapping for maple syrup. Despite the fact that there's no small amount of fatigue in her rambling, I don't miss the enthusiasm and pride she has in her work.

It was actually way back during our first trip to Four that Katniss discovered her calling. During some idle chitchat with our escorts — nice folks… even if it took a while to get over the whole "Capitol Labs" part — we found out their community has something called a conservation department, which really piqued her interest the more she learned about it. A couple years and no small amount of research later — the community was happy to loan as much material as possible for said research — Katniss helped found Panem's first local conservation department created after the Rebellion.

Besides the fact that I'm proud of her, have I mentioned how good she looks in that uniform?

It's around now that Katniss notices the candles set up, and probably notices the distinct smell of bread reaching completion. "You really aren't pulling any punches with this, are you." While her tone is light, I can tell that her demeanor gains a level of apprehension.

"You know me," I state with a smile. "But are you truly ready for this? I don't want to rush anything."

If anything, my words appear to steel her resolve and she gives a firm nod. "I want this."

I can't help it that my smile grows almost to the breaking point before I lean in for another kiss.

Without any further delay, I go to the oven — the open-flame one provided by Neo-Phoenicia; I don't normally use it for this kind of bread, but all things considered, keeping it operational is appropriate for the occasion — to check on the progress of things; a thump signifies that the bread's ready, and I take it out to set down on the counter. As a light trail of steam wafts up to fill the air with a yeasty aroma tinged with nuts and raisins, Katniss' eyes widen with realization likely meeting memory.

All I can do is shrug at that and murmur, "Just thought it seemed right."

Her response is almost inaudible, but I still catch it: "It is. Thank you."

I slice off the end of the loaf, and hand the knife to Katniss for her to slice that piece in half before we skewer our respective halves. Through all of this, and despite all that has happened, it occurs to me just as to how blessed I am.

And so, with bread in hand, the two of us make our way back to the fiery hearth with the knowledge that we'll be facing whatever comes our way together.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
